


Sea & Sky: The First Wave

by Dannell Lites Archivist (offpanel_archivist), kerithwyn



Series: Sea and Sky [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Birds of Prey (Comic), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Early Work, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-08-01
Updated: 2001-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/offpanel_archivist/pseuds/Dannell%20Lites%20Archivist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerithwyn/pseuds/kerithwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapters include the stories in the first arc of the Sea & Sky series. Includes works by various authors, written 1999-2000.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Sea Change

**Author's Note:**

> These stories are archived on behalf of Dannell Lites, who passed away in 2002, with the permission of her family.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sea & Sky I: A Sea Change by Dannell. 
> 
> The story that started it all, because I begged Dannell to write it. Thank you, darlin'.

SPIFFY DISCLAIMER THINGIE!!!

Not mine ... no profit ... don't sue:):)

Rated R for m/m sex so if'n that offends ya'll use that ol' delete key NOW!

For 'rith because she gave moi the idea in the first place:):)

 

 

 

_Full fathom five thy father lies Of his bones are coral made: Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Hark! now I hear them,--ding-dong, bell._

William Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act 1 Scene 2

 

 

 

Garth has changed a lot, lately.

I mean, it's more than just the new name and the new costume. Or even the new powers. Now, all of that's great, understand. The new costume is way flattering and Donna assures me that it's got great fashion sense. "All that red and black is very striking, don't you think so, Dick?" In her civilian identity of Donna Troy, Wonder Girl isn't one of the world's best fashion photographers for nothing. She knows style when she sees it. Garth's new name, Tempest, rocks, too. I mean, c'mon ... Aqualad? I'm pretty sure he changed it for the same reasons I did; it reminds him too much of Arthur. Oh, excuse me .. I mean Orin; his grand majesty Orin The Second, King of Atlantis And Poseidonis and All The Realm of the Seven Seas.

Whatever.

I wonder where the scars came from, though. Something really bad happened there, I think. Garth won't say. He just ignores them and so do the rest of us, now. If I didn't pretty much suspect how badly it must have hurt when he got them, I might even like them. They make him look kinda rakish. This business of being a superhero is rough sometimes. Bruce has so many scars that even Alfred's lost count. I've got a couple myself. Aquaman lost a hand. Garth lost ... something else. His innocence, I guess.

At first when I saw those scars I thought Arthur might have done it. Yeah, I know. Unthinkable, huh. Oh yeah?

<"Why didn't you just use a punching bag?">

I heard him say that. I may have been busy kicking stubborn JLA butt at the time, but my ears work just fine, thank you. That's exactly what he said to Arthur just before they beat the crap outta one another and some odd things fell right into place. Jesus Christ. I haven't been real fond of Aquaman for a long time but that sure iced the freaking cake, let me tell you.

Garth was always shy. Hell, I think one of the most beautiful things about him are his eyes; those wide violet eyes are killer. But he hates them. Always has. From the minute he was born those violet eyes got him into trouble. As a baby he was exiled from his city for no other reason than superstition about those eyes. Poor Garth. Always the outsider, nose pressed to the glass, looking in at the belonging he couldn't share. Even in the Titans it happened like that. I mean, nobody planned it that way, honest to God. It just happened. And he tried so hard to fit in ... it was almost painful to watch. We all tried. But his world was just too different from ours. We could always depend on him, don't get me wrong. If we needed Garth he was there for us, ready to storm the Gates of Hell if we asked him. And once or twice we did. He didn't fail us, ever.

But he missed out on all the good stuff about being a Titan. All the fun things; the parties, the music, all the quiet times when we just kicked back and talked. In the beginning he'd hang with the rest of us when the job was done and it was Miller Time. He was always smiling and laughing. But in his eyes, I'd see puzzlement and confusion. He didn't really understand the jokes and all the horseplay. We'd talk about school and he'd be left out because he didn't go to school. We'd bitch about our adult mentors and what a pain it was being a kid and Garth's face would get real still. He'd almost never say a word about Arthur. Now I know why, but back then it just seemed like he was extra quiet all the time.

We'd be relaxing with Soder Cola and junk food or pizza and Garth would just say he wasn't hungry or thirsty and everybody would shrug their shoulders and go on. Donna was the one who finally figured that one out. Surface food must have been mondo strange for him. And she tried to help she really did. It wasn't her fault it turned into a disaster. I'll never forget the nauseous look on Garth's face when he found out what "sushi" was. Thank God nobody laughed. And anytime Roy or Wally would crank up the stereo to earbleed volume and pump out metal or, God help us, Broadway Show tunes Garth would bit his lip, shake his head as if it hurt and leave the room after a minute or two. When you're used to the quiet of the ocean depths, I guess rock and roll is a little rough on sensitive ears.

"What?" cried the oblivious Roy. "What'd *I* do?"

"Mister Sensitivity, that's you, Harper," Donna rolled her eyes at our resident headbanger and clapped the earphones down firmly over his ears. "These might be a good idea! Get a clue!"

"Hey!" said Roy, "where'd Gillhead go?" Donna whimpered and mockingly began banging her head against the wall of Titans Lair.

I went to find Garth and bring him back, but he only smiled and excused himself. I remember thinking he might have a date with Tula, Aquagirl, and being very happy for him. I guess none of us ever really knew how much he loved her until it was too late.

Until she was dead.

We didn't see Garth for a long time after that. He just seemed to fall away somehow, to get lost in the shuffle of our busy lives. I'm not making any excuses, believe me. I don't think things would have been a lot different if he *had* been around more, you know? I mean, Jesus Christ, if we can overlook something like Speedy becoming a junkie under our very noses I make no bones about the fact that we'd probably have continued to ignore Garth's bruises and loneliness. Hey, I never said we were real bright about common things, okay? Give us a supervillain to stomp and the Titans are hell on wheels. But anything else and we're likelier than most to put in a less than stellar performance. To be kind.

Garth isn't the only one who's changed, of course. We all have, I guess. None of us are kids anymore. God, it's hard to believe, but Donna is a widow with two young step kids and a couple of busted relationships behind her. Roy is an ex-junkie, a single parent with a beautiful baby girl to raise all by himself. And Wally ... Wally is ... gone. Just gone. No one seems to really know quite what happened to him, but ... Jesus, he might even be dead. Or not.

And me?

I've changed, too. These days I'm more at ease with myself than I used to be. Being with Joey taught me that. Even Bruce noticed.

"My God, I'm proud of you Dick," he told me, "you're a better man than I am. You've put the two halves of your life together. Dick Grayson *is* Nightwing. There's room in your world for them both." Can you believe it? Yes, he actually said that to me. Christ, I love that man.. I wanted to reach out and hold him so bad. If things had been different ... He looks so tired these days. It breaks my heart just to see him like this. Since the quake, I don't think he's slept more than a couple hours straight at a time. Congress has written Gotham off. Hell, *everybody* has written Gotham off. Everybody but Bruce. He just refuses to quite. It's making me crazy. Every day I wake up expecting to hear from Alfred or Babs. Any time the phone rings or I download an urgent e-mail I cringe, expecting ...

I've been to too many funerals in my short life. God sometimes I can't believe I'm only 23. I feel so old ... When they laid Joey to rest in the earth, they buried part of me with him. For most of my life, I've been expecting that call from Alfred, that e-mail from Babs ... and you know what? When it actually happens, and it will, I still won't be ready. I'll never be ready.

All my lovers have had exotic eyes. I've got this thing for strange eyes. When I was 12 I had the biggest crush on Elizabeth Taylor and those violet eyes of hers. I hated Richard Burton's guts. I was so devastated when I found out her eyes were really blue and that she wore rose-tinted contact lenses to make them violet that I didn't speak to poor Alfred for a week after he told me. It was much worse than finding out there was no Santa. Joey's eyes were green; the most startling shade of sea green you can imagine. Kory's eyes are like those green cat's eyes that shine in the dark ... green as old, polished jade. Bruce's eyes ... Bruce's eyes may be a common color, blue, but there's absolutely nothing else ordinary about them. Nothing. Looking into Bruce's eyes is like floating on the surface of the sea where Garth lives ... there are signs and portents of the depths beneath but they're well guarded. And you're always in danger of drowning.

Well, Bruce and I have never been lovers so I guess it doesn't matter ... but I've been known to fall head over heels for somebody because their eyes remind me of Bruce. God help me.

So, I guess it isn't surprising when you think about it that the first thing that attracted me to Garth was his eyes. Those deep violet eyes. And his hands. He has such elegant hands. Slender and supple, with slim agile fingers. My Mom used to call hands like that the "hands of a great artist or a great lover." But Garth can bend steel with those fine boned hands. And he knows real magic now. That part was hard to get behind, at first. But I've seen him do it. And to focus his mystical energies he uses his hands to gesture. The first time I saw him do that, I almost embarrassed myself. I watched him gesture, the water of the pool at Titan's Tower warmed itself, bubbling like a Jacuzzi and I got hard as a rock. Just from watching his hands.

Joey had great hands too. Just like Garth; an artist's hands. Joey used his hands to speak and watching them move and flow in Sign was always a delight. The first time I ever felt those graceful hands moving over my naked body I was lost. All Joey had to do was lay those hands on me and I arched my back, gasped for breath and it was almost all over. Joey wouldn't let me apologize.

"More than one way to speak with the hands," he Signed, his eyes laughing.

I've been imagining for a while now what Garth's hands would feel like against my skin. It makes me shiver. I like Garth's new confidence. It's nothing new, really. He's always been sure of himself. The only difference is that now he doesn't mind if others can see it, too. He still doesn't like being alone, but he's come to terms with that, now. So have I.

And no, I don't much like it either.

I kept thinking about those hands and how they would feel ...

And then one day, I found out.

I don't know why I followed him. Or why he let me. Maybe we were just both tired of being alone. But there he was, sitting on the beach at Montauk Point at ebb tide, watching the light of the dying sun turn the waters of the sea the color of blood. Without a word I sat beside him and enjoyed the beauty of the waning day, the waves lapping at my feet.

"Do you miss it sometimes?" I asked. "Atlantis, I mean." Smiling, he shook his head, but then nodded in reconsideration.

"Sometimes," he admitted, low voiced. "Becoming Arthur's Councilor was a mistake. I wasn't ready. But like the man says, you live and learn or you don't live long." He looked at me curiously.

"What about you?" he wanted to know. "You miss Gotham? Bruce?" I deflected that one like a badly aimed bullet, believe me. And in a hurry, too.

""You know what I miss?" I replied lightly. "Tacos, man. Ramone's Tacaqueria on Fullmont. Greasiest tacos ever inflicted on mankind. Order one, crunch that sucker and watch your arteries harden." I smacked my lips as if I could taste one right there. And then I could've kicked myself remembering the sushi debacle.. Garth is a strict vegetarian. Christ, why was I always putting my foot in my mouth around him? But he surprised me. He laughed. With a flourish, he snapped his fingers and mimed as if they held Spanish castanets.

"Ole!" he cried.

Remember what I told you about those hands? God, I was in trouble, now. In a speedo, no less.

I felt like burrowing into the sand to hide, but it was too late. My traitorous body had a will of its own. Instinctively, I brought my knees together to shield my arousal from his eyes. And came damn close to doing myself an injury. If my erection didn't grab Garth's attention, then my startled yelp of surprised pain certainly did. With a resigned sigh, I fell onto my back and covered my eyes with my forearm.

"Jesus," I muttered, "I need a leash for that thing!"

The hands that moved my arm and left me staring up into dark violet eyes were gentle but firm. Garth was smiling. "Oh, I don't know," he said, "it looks like it's ready to rock and roll to me. Be a shame to ... confine ... it again." He leaned closer. "Tragic, in fact." For all the lightness of his words, his kiss, when his lips touched mine, was hungry, demanding. It took my breath away and I found myself gasping. I began to ache for Garth's touch, but I determined to let Garth set the pace for this. Startled as I was, it never once occurred to me to try and stop him. Different lovers bring out different parts of me. With Joey I was aggressive, wild. With Garth it began to look as if I were going to be passive. That suited me just fine.

I gasped as Garth's hands whispered down my arching body to engulf my nipple, making it pucker and harden into a point. Still moving almost maddeningly slowly, he moved down my chest and stomach, my muscles clenching with pleasure as Garth used his tongue. Then he dipped into the hollow of my navel and my hands dug themselves into the wet sand beneath me.

Moaning, I looked up at Garth, head thrown back, eyes closed, body moving under the desire coursing through him, and thought that I'd never seen a more beautiful sight in my life. He kissed my hipbones, moved down my thighs, then knelt between them. He was in no hurry. He breathed gently on the weeping tip of my hardness, and I arched into the caress. When Garth finally took me into his mouth I was thrashing and writhing beneath him. He moved his lips further down me, using his tongue to tease me. I was close, on the brink, moans and pleas for release growing louder, as Garth worked his magic on my body. He spiraled his tongue down my length, tickling the sensitive underside and I erupted like Vesuvius.

Trembling and shaking like a leaf in a storm wind, I clung to him. The sea crashed into the shore and cooled us with it's waters. When I could speak at last, I murmured into the hollow of his throat, "My God, Garth ... My God!" Silent, he held me until the trembling passed. After a few moments, gone so soon, his embrace loosened but I held fast to his body.

"Not yet," I asked, my voice unsteady. I didn't care. "In a minute ... then - then you can let me go. Just ... not now, okay?" I didn't want him to disappear from my life again like a tide into the sea he loved so well. All right. Call me pathetic. Call me a sucker for a pretty face. Call me a pervert. Call me whatever you like. Just don't call me alone. I was tired of losing people I loved. Or never having them in the first place. I'm a fool. I *know* that. Garth may not be the one. Probably isn't.

But ... then again ...

He just might be. If I didn't try I was never going to know was I? He was warm and alive and desirable. And he ... he ...

I lifted my head. I had to know.

"Garth?" Eyes closed fast against the dying beauty all around us, he stirred at the sound of his name.

"Hmmmm?" The raise and fall of his chest and the deep sound of his breathing was reassuring. I was pretty sure he wasn't going to just disappear. And if this was a dream, I sure didn't want to wake up any time soon. But of a sudden I couldn't think of a damn thing to say. Imagine that ... me, Nightwing, the former Robin, the back half of "Batman and," caught flatfooted without a pun to my name.

"Robbie?"

I had to smile at that. No one's called me "Robbie" in forever. Not since the early days of the Teen Titans and that so long ago that there are no known survivors of that distant Era. And Garth was so formal back then, he almost never used my unofficial nickname. I'm not sure why hearing him use it now made me feel so good. Nostalgia, most likely. I chuckled.

"Yeah, Gillhead?" Garth poked me sharply in the ribs but I swear he giggled.

"Leaping Lungfish, Robbie!" he cried in a higher, younger voice than the low, sexy one he has now. "I think I'm having a Roy flashback! can it be? Yes! Yes, it is! It's ... The Return Of The Mouth That Walks Like A Man!" He covered his eyes against the horrible sight and we both dissolved into laughter for a long time. Until I finally found my voice again and my courage.

"I was gonna ask you why," I admitted to him. "Why? Why now? Why did you ...? Was it just a -- a whim or something?" He opened those beautiful eyes and I knew I was lost. That it didn't matter what he said; that I was going to see this thing through 'til the end.

Whatever that turned out to be.

His arms tightened around me.

"A whim?" he said. He cupped my face with his strong hands. "No," he answered his own question, "I've wanted to do this for a long time. Since I was a kid, really. Some Detective you are, Boy Wonder. Didn't you ever figure out that *you* were the reason I kept hanging around the Titans? Why I kept coming back? I had the world's biggest crush on you and you never even noticed, you cad!" He draped one forearm melodramatically over his brow and cried, "Oh Rhett, Rhett!! Whatever shall Ah *do*?" in the very worst southern accent I have ever heard in my entire life. I grinned like a fool.

Jesus, I thought dazed, I didn't even know they *had* "Gone With The Wind" in Atlantis ... I tried not to think about it.

"Frankly, my Dear," I began in my best Clarke Gable impression, then switched in mid sentence to my normal voice, "don't give up your day job, okay?" The sound of his musical laughter carried me away like a sea wave and for the first time in far too long I felt young and alive. That was when I think I decided that every thing just might, just *might*, be okay after all.

At least for a little while.

And if ... eventually they weren't ... well, like Scarlett O'Hara, the original Steel Magnolia, I'd think about that another day ...


	2. A Sea Change (Garth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sea and Sky Ia: A Sea Change (Garth) by kerithwyn.
> 
> Garth's perspective on how it began.

Things have changed a lot, lately.

For the Titans, but more specifically for me. And for me in relation *to* the Titans.

How strange--and yet not strange at all--that the five first Titans have come together again to refound the team. All of us back where we began; and none of us as we were.

Donna, to whom I was closest in those earliest days... Donna has been through more changes than anyone can name, even herself. So much loss has made her uncertain of her own feelings, and even of ours for her. That fear, at least, is unfounded: Knowing the tragedies she's endured makes all of us feel even more protective of the woman who has *always* been the team's heart. And very close to all of ours.

Roy would have everyone believe that he hasn't changed at all. He *still* hides behind a wall of casual insults...more annoying, and more hurtful, than he realizes. But watch him with Lian even for a moment and the façade of indifference fails. He used to be so careless of his friends, his lovers, even his own life. Now he cares very much indeed, and not only for his daughter's sake but for his own.

Wally has become comfortable in his own skin, something astonishing after so many years of seeing him struggle with who he wanted to be. He has taken his mentor's legacy and made it his own, and of all of us I think Wally is most fundamentally at ease with the life we lead. And love, too, has made him content.

My own changes--at least, the outward ones--are easiest to see. My friends shake their heads to realize that time spent *elsewhere* means I am now the eldest and not the least-powerful Titan where I used to be the youngest and most helpless; and my awakened powers bear witness to that time and everything I learned there.

And Dick...

Dick has changed most dramatically. Dick hasn't changed at all.

He's more at ease, freer as Nightwing than he ever was as Robin; yet he's haunted. By the specter of his mentor, by his losses, by a deep abiding loneliness--

That seems all too familiar, truth be told. We are both very much alone these days. Neither of us likes it. Since losing Kory he's thrown himself into a number of relationships, all fleeting, none seeming of any comfort to him at all. When I lost Tula...I did the same. In greater measure, and for a far longer time. Lori and Jero and Lia and others I barely remember for the grief that clouded me. And while Dolphin and I tried for something more than affection, when we parted there was only the mildest regret between us.

It's no surprise at all that Dick and I have both returned to the team where we feel at home, and loved.

I should thank Wally for convincing Dick to rejoin the Titans, to allow us to begin again. The team has never truly functioned without him. For all of us, at this point in our lives, it's become more important than ever to have that support in place, and friends to come home to.

Friends. That alone would be enough to bring me back, but introspection forces me to admit to more. I'm not at all certain what I should do, or say, if anything...but I can't stop wondering. Wally has found love with Linda Park. I've seen the resurgence of the old attraction between Donna and Roy. And Dick and I...are both very much alone.

I can't help but think about possibilities. But then, I always felt for him. More than I should have, from the beginning.

And recently--

I've seen him watching my hands, following their movements when I work my small magics. I've seen his fascination. And I've caught him looking at me other times, and I wonder....

I wonder if he really is watching, or if it's just my own longing that makes me imagine his gaze. And the desire in it.

I don't want to be imagining it.

###

He followed me to Montauk Point. I wasn't sure why, and didn't care; his unexpected company was more than welcome. We sat for a long while, watching the sunset, until finally he asked me if I missed Atlantis.

The answer to that was twofold. I miss the city, and I miss the ocean around me...but I don't necessarily miss the people or their close-mindedness, or Arthur.

Arthur and I are distant, these days. Another of my choices that I do not regret.

In response I wondered if he missed Gotham and Bruce. I realized the question was a mistake even as he deflected it. There are things about his relationship with Bruce Wayne that Dick has never wanted to think too deeply about, even aside from having grown up in the shadow of that overwhelming personality.

But Dick is the man he is because of that force of will who shaped him, and there is simply no doubting his strength, or his brilliance, or his dedication to his work and his friends.

It was easy to fall back into the old familiar pattern, teasing and joking with him, more at ease than ever. And then....

A simple movement of my hands, and the world changed.

His arousal was...a revelation. It was all the invitation I needed to reach for him as I'd longed to do since we first met. I wanted to touch him, to discover the taste of his mouth. To learn his body. All of my old yearnings not only permitted, but *wanted.* I don't dare wonder, not yet, what else he might want.

Right now, resting on the edge of the sea with his arms around me, I see very clearly the paths that have brought us both here. Loneliness and desire. Friendship and--

And perhaps more. But it's enough right now be here, like this, and see what tomorrow brings.


	3. "But What Does It Mean?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sea & Sky II/World's Finest II: "But What Does It Mean?" by kerithwyn.
> 
> Tim Drake talks to Dick Grayson about his encounter with Superboy--and learns about Dick's new relationship with Garth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sequel to "World's Finest: Getting to Know You". Also an unofficial sequel to Dannell Lites' "A Sea Change". Post-Clench, pre-Cataclysm, pre-Young Justice.
> 
> For the rest of the World's Finest series: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1143637

The man who answered the door was dark-haired, broad-shouldered, strongly muscled, and naked to the waist.

He wasn't Dick.

He looked down on me with purple (!) eyes and said with an accent I almost recognized, "Yes? Can I help you?"

"I'm Tim Drake, I was looking for Dick Grayson...?"

"Yes, of course." He turned and called over his shoulder. "Richard, there is a young man named Tim Drake to see you!"

Inside the apartment, I saw Dick come out of the bathroom, wearing only a pair of sweatpants and toweling his hair dry. "Hey, Tim, come in! What brings you to Blüdhaven?"

I stepped into the front room. "I wanted to talk to you, but if this is, uh, a bad time...." I didn't want to start talking about private stuff in front of this guy...whoever he was.

Dick saw my hesitation. "Oh, sorry. Tim, this is Garth, an old friend of mine." He smiled. "You'd probably recognize him as Tempest."

"Sure, the Titan!"  _Now_  I recognized the accent--Atlantean, like Aquaman's. "You used to be Aqualad, right?"

Dick snorted. Garth shook his head and said, "There, do you see? I will always be ‘Aqualad,' just as part of you will always remain...oh." He stopped abruptly.

"S'okay, Garth, Tim knows it all."

"Ah. Forgive me, this business of secret identities is still strange, even after all these years. But as I have said before, ‘Robin' is still a part of you, my friend."

Dick trusted this guy. That was enough for me. "I like that new costume, Garth. Real, uh, striking."

"Thank you." He paused, then said, "I can see you have things to discuss with Richard. Are you hungry?"

"Uh...."

Dick laughed. "Better say ‘yes,' kid. Garth makes the best vegetarian stir-fry I've ever had."

"Sure, okay."

"All right, then: you talk, I cook." He smiled warmly at Dick and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Grab a seat, Tim." Dick snagged a sweatshirt from the edge of a chair and sat down. "What's up?"

Oh, boy. Talk about strange timing; here I'd come to talk to Dick about...what I'd come to talk about, and he was...he was.... I had to ask.

"Uh, Dick, tell me to take a flying leap if I'm out of line here, but you and Garth are...?"

He smiled like a cheshire cat. "Friends."

I blushed. "Uh, right. Never mind."

"Sorry. I'm still getting used to this, myself." His wry expression spoke volumes.

"Does...does Bruce know?"

He snorted again. "What  _doesn't_  he know? But I haven't told him, if that's what you're asking, and he hasn't said anything to me."

"I thought...."

"What?"

"Well, you and Kory...."

"A different part of my life. I still...love her. Always will. But it's not the same as it was." He was quiet for a minute, and then he said, "But you came down here to talk to  _me_  about something, right?"

"It's kinda related...."

"Girl troubles? Steph giving you grief again?"

"Uh, no." God, I'd barely thought about her recently. "I, uh, something happened I wanted to talk to you about...."

He sat back. "You can tell me anything, Tim. You know that."

"Yeah, but this is hard." I took a deep breath. "You know Superboy, right? He helped me with Metallo and Poison Ivy, a couple of weeks ago."

"Heard about that. Also heard that he stopped them  _himself_ , down in the islands, but I guessed there had to be more, since Metallo first showed up in Gotham."

"Right. He trashed Metallo, then Ivy whammied Superboy and took off for Kauai, so I had to follow. Metallo pulled himself together and came after us. We got real lucky." I shook my head. " _Real_  lucky."

"And?"

"Well...Superboy showed up a couple of days later. He said he came to thank me for my help, and then he...." I gulped. "He, uh...kissed me."

You could have made a cast from Dick's face; he didn't so much as blink. "What did you do?"

"I was really stunned, I mean, I never thought of doing anything with another guy...." I looked for a reaction from Dick, but he just motioned for me to go on. The rest came out in one long breath.

"But it was kinda nice, so I let him do it again, and then we flew over to that old resort island and, uh, fooled around. Touching and stuff. You know." My face was burning so hard I was sure I was gonna burst into flame.

Thank God he didn't laugh, or show even a trace of a smirk. I would've died right there. "So you're wondering what it all means."

"Yeah." Sometimes it's great that Dick acquired Batman's detective instincts. They saved me from having to explain everything.

"I think it means...whatever you want it to mean." He held up a hand to stop me, because I must've looked annoyed. "No, wait, let me finish. I can't tell you what it means to  _you_ , but maybe I can help you figure it out, okay?"

"...yeah, all right." Should've known it wouldn't be that simple.

"I'm guessing you didn't hate it, or you wouldn't be here. So now your whole world-view just got dumped on its ass, and you're wondering if you're gay."

There was that insight again. Great, but uncomfortable to think he could read me so easily. Was I  _ever_ gonna learn how to do that? "You...pretty much got it in one."

"One encounter doesn't make a lifestyle, Tim. Not even two or three. It's a lot more about what you're _feeling_ , than what your body does."  _Now_  he grinned. "I remember what it was like at your age. A stiff breeze, and...."

I covered my face, embarrassed. "Geez...."

"It also doesn't help that you're a teenager in the business we're in."

"Huh?"

"Well...we all handle the stress differently. Sometimes it's easy to get caught up in the heat of the moment. You're throwing yourself into danger, trusting to someone else to watch your back, and that creates an instant bond. Things get exciting, you take down the threat together, and suddenly there's all this  _energy_  left over and nothing left to do with it."

I thought that over, then realized something. "Is that what happened with you and--"

He interrupted, glowering. "We're not talking about me, here. Give that one a rest, Tim."

Bingo. Interesting. "But what happened with Superboy, that was a couple of days later...."

"So? Those emotions don't go away. I could tell you stories--" he paused. "But I won't. Let's just say, it's sometimes easy for things to get out of hand."

"Then...that's all it was?" Maybe....

"I can't answer that. I mean, you're both young and hormonal--I'd be more surprised if something like this  _hadn't_  happened, sooner or later. Even regular kids go through this stuff, Tim. You'll survive."

"Terrific."

"Don't agonize over it, that's all. Whatever it means to you, learn from it and go on. You're a level-headed guy, you'll be all right."

I had things to think about, if nothing else. "Okay. Thanks."

"Sure. Anything else?"

"No, not right now." I looked at him curiously. "Can I ask you a question, though?"

He nodded. "You're wondering about Garth."

I stared at him. "How do you  _do_  that?!"

"Practice." He winked, then looked toward the kitchen. "Garth...has been alone for a very long time. We need this, both of us." Dick went on, more to himself than to me. "It's about companionship, and comfort, and friendship."

"Is...that all there is? I mean, all I should expect?"

He looked at me sharply. "No! And I don't think you believe that, either. Super-hero or not, it  _is_ possible to find someone you really love. But--" he smiled a little, "I probably shouldn't say this to you, but you don't always have to wait it out alone."

Then I said just the wrong thing. "Bruce doesn't--"

" _ **Bruce**_  isn't--" he said harshly, and then stopped. He took a deep breath and went on, more quietly. "Bruce has shut himself off from a lot of things he probably shouldn't." He sighed. "Listen, Tim, I'm not trying to tell you what's right or wrong for you, I'm telling you what I've seen and what works for me. You have to make your own decisions. Just...be careful, all right? I mean, Roy ended up with a daughter by an international assassin, for cripes' sake. Lian's a doll, but...."

Before I could answer, Garth's voice rang out. "Robbie, Tim, lunch is ready whenever you are!"

I looked at Dick, questioning. "‘Robbie'?!"

Dick shook his head. "Ah, old Titans stuff. We'll be there in a minute, Gillhead!" he shouted back.

I laughed. I couldn't help it.

"Yeah, yeah. Just you wait ‘til you're leading a team, and see what kind of grief you get."

" _That'll_  be the day." No way. Just being Robin kept me busy enough.

Dick smiled like he knew something I didn't. "Oh, you will. Just wait and see. But now, I'm hungry. You coming?"

We went into the kitchen, and Garth was wearing two things I hadn't seen when he opened the door: one of Dick's "Haley's Circus" T-shirts, and two parallel scars that curved down over his left eye. He saw me glance at that and said, "The spell has worn off, I have not had the chance to refresh it."

"Spell?"

He nodded, pulling down plates from the cupboard. "A small illusion. I am not much of a mage, but enough to disguise the scars for my friends' comfort, or for company."

A real magician! Too cool. "Oh, it doesn't bother me! I mean, you don't have to...."

He smiled. "Then I will not. I was simply practicing, in any case."

While we ate, I kept sneaking glances at Dick. He and Garth took turns telling old Titans stories, stuff from when they first got together as a team. Neat stuff, but I was more interested in how  _relaxed_  Dick seemed. Every time he and Bruce work together, you can cut the tension with a knife. I mean, they obviously love and respect each other, but it's like this constant battle.

His friendship--or  _whatever_ \--with Garth was on this whole other level, really comfortable. Seeing Dick so at ease was...pretty cool, actually.

About halfway through the meal, Garth excused himself and I heard the shower start up. Before I could even start wondering, Dick said, "He's an Atlantean, after all. He needs to stay hydrated to breathe on land. Gonna be hell on my water bills."

"Oh." Then, so I didn't sound like a total idiot, "You, uh, seem really happy."

"Yeah." He paused, fork halfway to mouth, and said, "Y'know, in all the stuff I said before, I didn't once mention you could always think about  _waiting_...."

I stared at him, too weirded out to blush. "God, Dick, not  _that_  sex talk, not from you!"

He snickered. "Okay, you're right. Sorry."

Garth came back in, and we all talked a bit more about those old Titans stories before I had to leave.

Dick walked me to the door. "Tim," he told me, "just use your head." He tapped his forehead. " _This_ one." I felt my face go red again, and he laughed. "But don't forget to listen to your heart, either."

Right. A  _lot_  to think about.

But the next time I saw Kon-El, that all flew out the window.


	4. Something Rich and Strange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sea & Sky III by kerithwyn. Nightwing and Tempest explore their new relationship with some plot-unencumbered sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An unofficial sequel to Dannell Lites’ "A Sea Change" and a follow-up tangent from the second in my "World’s Finest" series, "But What Does It *Mean?*".

_Full fathom five thy father lies_  
Of his bones are coral made:  
Those are pearls that were his eyes:   
Nothing of him that doth fade,  
But doth suffer a sea-change  
Into something rich and strange.  
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:  
Hark! now I hear them,--ding-dong, bell.

\--William Shakespeare, *The Tempest,* Act 1, Scene 2   
  
  
Then Tim left, and we were alone again.

"He seemed troubled...." Garth’s voice, low and sexy. God, I could listen to him talk all day. He wasn’t much for that, though.

"He’ll be all right. He’s a great kid."

"That is the new Robin, yes?"

"Mm-hmmm. Thanks for not letting him know you realized that. He’s still in the ‘protect the ID at all costs’ mode."

"Naturally. With Bruce as a mentor, how could he not?"

I smiled. "I think Bruce would *like* to forget that all the founding Titans know his identity from way back when."

Garth came over and lifted my chin. "And you? How are *you* feeling?"

One look into those intense purple eyes and I was feeling something, no question. "Good. Real good."

He bought me in for a kiss, and I was immediately hard. Never mind that we’d been up half the night, learning each other’s bodies. Thank God it was Saturday; I’d have lost my job, because there was no way I was leaving this apartment anytime soon. Blüdhaven could care for itself, for a night and a day.

Bruce never allowed himself to think like that. Well, that was *his* problem. I was tired of telling him that.

Garth’s hands--his gorgeous, magical hands--wove their spell through my hair, down my back, came to rest on my rear. Mine were busy wrestling with his clothes. Our mouths were welded together, tongues entwined. He tasted of the sea, which seemed obvious, but with a tang that was all his own.

"Mmmm..." he pulled his mouth away and rested his forehead against mine. "Do you know how much I’ve wanted you? So very long, and now you are..."

"I’m here, Garth."

He swept me up, muscles strengthened by the pressures of the ocean floor easily carrying my weight. "Yes. And I have no intention of letting you go, anytime soon."

"That’s fine with me!" I was so tired of being alone...and so was Garth. I had filled my life with a variety of lovers, each one part of the search for something elusive. As far as I knew, Garth hadn’t really loved anyone since Tula...not that I expected to take her place in his heart, or anything like that. But companionship, that we could offer each other.

And lust. God, he’s beautiful. It’s mostly in those eyes, and his hands. And his chest, strong and deep. And...well, you get the idea.

So back to bed we went, and soon I was moaning loud enough to wake the neighbors. He has an incredible mouth, and he wasn’t shy about using it. On my nipples ‘til they ached, and sweeping down to my navel, and finally descending to my weeping cock with a touch so delicate I thought I would scream. Then his lips were around me, sucking pressure and teasing tongue bringing me right to the brink.

And then he stopped. I groaned. "Please...."

He moved up to lean over me. "I want you."

I reached down to stroke him, as hard and eager as I was. "I can tell!"

"In me, Robbie. Please."

I almost came just hearing him say that. "If you want to..."

He kissed me again, hard. "I want!"

It’d been a while...since Joey, in fact. I didn’t know how much experience Garth had, and I wasn’t about to ask, because he seemed so sure.

He rolled over on his back, pulling me over on top of him. "Here, so I can see your face."

I reached over into the headboard for the lube. The condoms I left where they were; I was clean, and so was Garth. All the Titans were--even Roy, by some miracle--and I knew it because regular check-ups were part of the team mandate. Families take care of each other like that. I’d never feel comfortable in the JLA; they handle their world-shattering crises and go home, and never *talk.*

But then again, sometimes I think too much.

Most of last night I’d let Garth take charge. It just seemed right, somehow. But now, with him stretched out under me, it felt like *my* turn to play. I reached for his wrists and he let me push them up above his head. I wanted to touch him with no distraction, and his smile let me know he was all for that, too.

Slowly, then. His body was a gift offered to me, and I tried to make the most of it. Everywhere I touched he responded with a shudder or a gasp or with a deep moan when I found the right spot. I traced a path over his skin and Garth writhed under me, his voice urging me on.

The curve of his neck yielded to me as if I were a vampire and he an all-too-willing victim. The span of his chest measured with tongue and teeth, gentle or sharp as the mood struck. His stomach clenched as I traced the muscles there with my fingertips, and he wasn’t ticklish at all but shuddering with desire. By the time I moved down between his legs he was visibly trembling.

He cried out as I bent to taste him, sea and salt and the elemental flavor of *Garth,* my friend and teammate and lover. Much more of *that* and it’d all be over; he was so responsive and the scent and feel of him was so arousing that I wasn’t going to last much longer, either.

I’d left the lube close at hand--"always be prepared," Batman taught me better than any scout leader--so a quick flip of the cap and we were ready to go. With my mouth still on him I slid a finger into him, and he arched up and his whole body stiffened and I thought he was gonna come right then. After a second he fell back to the mattress and groaned, a deep needful sound.

"Hurry...." His voice was strained, a low sensual growl. I knew exactly how he felt, but I wanted to make sure he was ready. A second finger and then I found just the right spot....

"Ah...*yes...*" With a sudden motion he grabbed me, hauling my body over his and up to assault my mouth with his own. He pulled back, shaking. "Enough. *Fuck* me, Robbie."

Garth is never crude. Hearing that from his mouth sent a bolt like electricity through my groin.

Another moment and without any awkwardness at all I was inside him, so warm and deep. His head was thrown back, eyes closed, and he was whispering something in the elegant, liquid Atlantean that is his native language. I touched his face. "Garth?"

His eyes opened and I fell into them again, that strange and beautiful violet hue. "Ohhhh...you make me forget my English. This is a prayer of thanksgiving, for pleasure and friendship...."

So he whispered to me as I moved on him, with him, his words flowing around us and his eyes on mine. We fell into a perfect rhythm, and before long the feeling swept up like a tide, as inexorable as the sea. He tightened around me and came with my name on his lips, and then my own pleasure hit with the force of a tidal wave, dragging my consciousness down into a deep and soothing darkness.

Garth said later that I sprawled over him, senseless, for a couple of long minutes. I don’t remember. But I know exactly how I feel, recalling this: that I was content, and comfortable, and *loved.*

And sometimes, that’s a greater blessing than I can count.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The sequel--if I ever get around to it, or unless Dannell feels like writing it first--will be an *underwater* PWP called "Full Fathom Five." Gonna mine that (rather gruesome, but oh well) Shakespeare quote for all it’s worth!


	5. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sea & Sky IV: Interlude by kerithwyn.
> 
> Garth watches Dick as he sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a mooky biscuit to nibble on while I wrestle with longer pieces. ;)
> 
> Fourth in the "Sea and Sky" series.

He curls beside me in sleep, and I watch him as he dreams.

He is...finely made, a body honed to perfection by the demands of his mentor and his own driving passions. The fact that I now know his body, have traced the lines and planes of it intimately, still astonishes me. I had never thought to be here, like this.

But dreamed, yes. When I was younger I came back time and again to see him, to stand and fight by his side. Even as my own weaknesses kept me from committing full-time to our..."work," I still answered whenever he called. How could I not?

My heart's own love teased me for that. "Tell him," she said, eyes gleaming. "And invite me to watch." I blushed, and shook my head: no, never, he isn't interested, and besides which I have *you.* Then we made love, drifting with the sea's deep currents, and my attraction to him was such a fleeting thing compared to my devotion to her.

The truth of her death overwhelmed me. For so long I wandered aimless, never daring to stop for fear that I might shatter with her loss. But time, as they say, heals--and in time, I found both purpose and power enough to live again. As for love--

I see her smiling down at me, in my mind's eye. No, my heart, I answer her unspoken question; here is friendship and comfort and desire, but not--it is not--

Idiot, she says in the voice of my own subconscious. Don't be so quick to decide. Enjoy this for what it is. Let tomorrow fend for itself.

Her wisdom--my own?--strikes true, and I smile to myself in the dark.

A blue-black comma of hair falls over his eyelid when he shifts, and I brush it away before the small irritation wakes him. He does not rest enough, so every moment he sleeps is a blessing. I do not mean for anything to disturb him; this night, the city he protects must do without his guardianship.

If that is selfish, then so be it. He has given me too great a gift to share him with anyone else. And the warm comfort of his body against mine lulls me into a gentle languor that I have no reason or desire to resist.

Of necessity I reached out to him first; it was *not* by accident the movement of my hands caught his eye, that day on Montauk Point. I knew that he seemed fascinated by the gestures of spell-casting, and his beautiful reaction to a simple motion was all the invitation I needed.

He reached back for me with such loneliness, a mirror to my own.

I know already how I should rouse him, when morning comes. I want to map the shape of him with hands and tongue, learning the places that make him sigh even in sleep.

But for now I only hold him close, and wait eagerly for the dawn.


	6. Full Fathom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sea & Sky V: Full Fathom by kerithwyn. 
> 
> Nightwing and Tempest explore a new world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fifth in the "Sea and Sky" series, following "A Sea Change" (by Dannell Lites), "World's Finest II: 'But What Does It *Mean?*'," "Something Rich and Strange," and "Interlude (500 Words).

"Trust me?"

"You know it."

We were standing at Montauk Point, naked on the edge of the sea.

"Look at me, then." Easy enough. More than easy. His eyes--so beautiful--drew me in.

He laid his hand flat on my chest. For a moment there was only the touch, then a slight warmth that spread outward through my upper body, and down. He whispered something--a spell?--and the heat faded.

I felt the same, except for the fact that I was now hard as a steel bar. I couldn't help it. His eyes, his hands, his *magic* suffused me.

He smiled and stepped back. "Done. That will allow you to breathe, protect you from the pressure, and enhance your vision as well. A very efficient casting, that one."

"Was that something you learned from Atlan?"

"No. I researched. I wanted to show you my home, as I see it."

It warmed me again, that he had done that for me.

Something in his smile made me wonder, though. "Was that really part of it? Looking into my eyes?"

He flashed a grin that he could have stolen from Roy. "You guessed. I just like looking at you. And touching you. Now, come! Follow me." And he leapt.

I fought off instinct, exhaled, and dove.

 

 

 

Down deep. After the first shock of breathing water instead of air, it seemed almost natural.

I'd never really seen Garth in what truly was his native element. The pool in Titans Tower barely had room for him to stretch, though he never complained. And the last time we'd been together underwater had been during our assault on H.I.V.E.--so long ago! That was just after Terra...after Tara died. And Tula was still alive. We'd all been too busy to watch him, then.

Now I did. All the awkwardness he sometimes showed on land vanished completely. The sea welcomed him, caressed him as he moved with uncanny ease, and I almost felt like an intruder.

He reached out and took my hand, pulling me farther down.

He showed me wonders. Creatures never catalogued by oceanographers, the alien and utterly beautiful landscape of his world. In sharing it he'd given me a rare and precious gift.

I know he watched me as I stared astonished, clearly enjoying my amazement. And in between everything else, I watched him.

From the beginning he was so different than the rest of the founding Titans, it formed a gap we could only rarely bridge. Garth's whole experience reflected an entirely different environment than any we could imagine. We didn't know how to relate to a boy who knew nothing about the television shows we grew up on, or the collective consciousness of history, or the ingrained habits of social interaction. He adapted well, mimicking our mannerisms where he could and staying silent for the rest--but there was always that gap.

Yet he never hesitated to answer when we called, returning again and again despite his own concerns. I blushed to remember what he'd told me, that at least one of his reasons was his feeling for me--and I'd been oblivious, all that time. Some detective! But still, that was only one. The Titans were as much a part of him as they were of me, little though we'd done to earn such loyalty.

Or maybe given his past, just being there--and occasionally needing him--was enough.

The man who guided me now was such a far cry from the boy who used to be "Aqualad." The Garth who quit the Titans because he feared himself a liability to the team had vanished, replaced by a hero with unwavering confidence and such purity of character it shamed me. Quietly, without fanfare, one of my oldest friends had become one of the strongest men I knew.

A man who hadn't been afraid to reach for me on a lonely day when I never could have made the first move, even if I'd known how he felt. A friend who shared my bed and a serious case of mutual lust. A teammate I'd known for years, and was only now really starting to know.

Today I'd put my life literally in his hands--not for some crisis, as all of us had done a thousand times before--but simply to be here with him, seeing the world through *his* perspective for once. I'd only gained an inkling and I wanted to know so much more--

I touched his hand and the sheer physical *presence* of him suddenly stuck me, a bolt of desire that swept through me like a tide.

I saw the echo of that desire rise in him as if he'd only been waiting for a sign. Gently he pulled me closer, hands on my hips, and kissed me. In a moment we were entwined around each other, his hands coming up to tangle in my hair, mine around him and clutching at his back.

Words fail. I can't describe how incredible it felt, without the pull of gravity. We tumbled over and around, never caring which way was up and completely free. The feel of him over, under, against me, drifting with the currents and intoxicated with the feel of his skin.

I drew back for a breath--how strange that seemed, here--and just *looked* at him, really looked. He smiled and struck a bodybuilder's pose, so unlike him I burst out laughing, sending air bubbles racing for the surface fathoms overhead. But it wasn't funny, not at all, how much I wanted him right then and there. I grabbed him and his hands slid over my ass and I gasped with the pure sensual shock of it. God, I hadn't been this horny since...since....

Whatever, it didn't matter, all that mattered right *now* was the sight and feel and taste of him, his hands touching everywhere and his mouth on me, mine on him, falling deeper through the ocean. This wasn't just sex, it was raw, elemental, and over and over that tide rushed over me until there was nothing in the world but Garth and the tempest he'd raised in my blood.

 

 

 

It wasn't until much, much later that I realized when I'd felt that before.

I used to feel that same way with Kory, too. Back when I...when I was in love with her.

That couldn't be right, could it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:  
> The title is, obviously, a lie. For a man who prides himself on his powers of deduction, Dick lies to himself--a lot.  
> Things are getting interesting. Stay tuned.


	7. Oracle Interlude I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sea & Sky VI: Oracle Interlude 1 by kerithwyn.
> 
> Babs finds out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What, you didn't think Babs would show up? Sixth in the "Sea and Sky" series.

The disembodied voice from the computer monitor was the first sign that they were no longer alone. "So when were you gonna tell me about him, Former Teen Wonder?"

Dick Grayson's head snapped up to see Barbara Gordon--formerly Batgirl, now Oracle to the superhero community--grinning at him from the screen.

And the *way* she was grinning, that too-gleeful smirk, made him fear the worst.

He and Garth had been out running, just getting some exercise, and naturally...one look at each other, sweaty and panting, and they had barely been able to get up the stairs and into Dick's apartment before they were on each other, clothes flying everywhere and tumbling into bed with no thought but for the feel and taste of their bodies' entwining.

Forgetting, completely, the always-open computer connection that Nightwing maintained with Oracle. And the video camera therein.

Already blushing furiously, Dick demanded, "How much did you *see?!*"

She answered with a slow smile. "Enough, Bat-boy."

"Oh, God." Dick covered his face with his hands while Babs' voice rung out merrily.

"It's certainly good to see you're getting enough exercise...."

Garth chose that moment to emerge from the bathroom, still dripping from the shower and only a towel around his waist. "Oh! Hello, Barbara."

"Good to...*see* you, Garth," Babs returned, openly eyeing the broadness of the Atlantean's chest.

Dick's embarrassed groan only broadened Oracle's smile. "Taking care of him?"

"As well as he lets me." Garth looked down at his lover's head and shook his own, amused.

She laughed, delighted. "How true! He *is* stubborn."

"Ah, not so difficult. I have ways."

"I just *bet* you do."

A strangled tone emerged from behind sheltering hands. "Are you two *done* yet?!"

In unison they answered him: "Never." "Not a chance."

Dick got up, conspicuously avoiding Barbara's eyes, and fled the room.

Tempest and Oracle smiled at each other in perfect accord.

Garth touched the monitor's screen as he would have her face. "How are you, with this?"

"I'm all right. Just...surprised, that's all. But if he's...if you guys are happy...."

"Barbara, I never would have--"

Whatever Garth might have said next went forever unheard. "*No.* It's okay, Garth. Really." She smiled, and he saw the truth in it. "Just...love him, okay?"

"I-- Yes."

Something in his face made her wonder, but before she could pursue it another thought struck her. "My God--does Bruce know?"

Tempest frowned. "I'm not certain. Dick hasn't said anything about him. But all things considered...I cannot imagine that he does *not* know."

"He hasn't said anything to me, either way. Surprise, surprise. I wonder..." Barbara's voice trailed off.

"Hmmm?"

"Never mind. Either it doesn't matter to him, or it matters dreadfully, and you'll never know which until Bruce thinks it's time to tell you." She made a frustrated face. "Worse than a brick wall. But to heck with him, anyway." Oracle leaned forward conspiratorially. "When did you guys, uh, get together?"

"Not long ago, as you probably guessed. It was...a sudden thing. For him, anyway."

A noise sounded to Barbara's left, and she glanced off-screen. "Oh, damn-- I have to take this call. Tell Dick I'll talk to him, soon. And that I'm glad for him."

"I will." He nodded at the camera, positioned as it was-- "And no peeking. He might die of the shock."

"But you wouldn't? Oo."

"Barbara!"

Oracle waved her hand in surrender. "All right, all right. No peeking." But she was still smiling as the screen went dark.


	8. Eyes Wide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sea & Sky VII: Eyes Wide by kerithwyn.
> 
> Babs just called; everyone reacts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS TO: For all their help, Dannell, Carmen, PollyMel, KJ, and the other IRC folks--and most especially Kael, without whom this and following sections would have just been a big unformed mess. Without her insight this series might have remained permanently stalled. I owe you, babe.

**Barbara:**

Fortunately the call didn't take long--Dinah needed some information, and I was able to dig it up without much effort. Which was a good thing, because I was still completely distracted by what I'd seen.

My God, what I'd seen!

I already knew--sort of--that Dick liked men as well as women. There was always something in his voice when he talked about Jericho. When Joey died, what Dick went through seemed much more than just grief over a teammate's death.

Not that we ever talked about it. God forbid we ever talked about anything *that* deep. I suppose I just filed that in the back of my head like a good librarian and didn't think about it too much.

Me and Dick...now there was a whole 'nother subject. Batgirl and Robin. Oracle and Nightwing. A world of difference between the two.

Back then, sometimes it was us against the Bat. He was the Batman's sanctioned partner, while I was just the uppity chit who decided to put on a pair of tights and go swinging over Gotham. Bruce got over that--eventually--but Dick supported me from the beginning.

It was fun, having someone to talk to about the crazy stuff we were doing. We made a good team. And I'll admit it was a heck of a thrill to know that this handsome, talented, and intelligent young man had a crush on me. A *young* man--only a few years younger than me, but years that made all the difference back then. Now.....

Now there are other considerations. I wasn't lying when I said I was happy for them. How could I be anything but? I've seen Dick reach for love over and over through the years. Thank God! Bruce taught him a lot, and certainly Dick is the good man he's become in no small part due to that example. But Bruce also wraps himself in a coldness that keeps him from ever really knowing love. He can't let himself know. Dick never learned that lesson. Even with all he's been through, all the tragedy and heartache, Richard John Grayson never let the shadow of the Bat darken his heart.

"Shadow of the Bat." How melodramatic. Get a grip, Babs.

What I'd seen...

I didn't know Garth that well. In passing, really, from a few brief meetings with the Titans. As Oracle I knew all the unimportant things, of course. All the hard simple facts pulled from the superhero database: height, weight, known powers. Some of his history--enough to make my voice go cold whenever I spoke with Aquaman on the Watchtower.

But I saw...I saw Garth look at Dick the way I think I sometimes do. Of course I love Dick. I always have, though somewhere along the line that changed from something big-sisterly to...well, to a possibility, that's all. He was still finding his way on his own as Nightwing, I'd quit being Batgirl a bit earlier, and we didn't really see each other a lot, and then, then--

I became Oracle. This is my life, and it's a good one. A lot of stubborn hardheaded determination and not a little therapy brought me to that. I save lives. I walk--in spirit, at least--with a pantheon of the greatest super-heroes ever to guard the Earth. I watch, and I guide, and with my help those modern gods function more efficiently. I make a difference on a global scale. Batgirl struggled to take out a few drug-dealers on a street corner. Oracle can burn an international drug lord's business to the ground with a touch on a keyboard.

I can't touch him.

But Garth can--oh, yes, he certainly can. I'd turned on the camera just to see if Dick was home and caught an eyeful. Fast as I switched off the link, that image still burned itself into my brain. I was surprised...okay, shocked. I had no idea they were that...close. Really, really close. And really beautiful together. So shock and then, well, some totally indecent fascination, and maybe a flash of jealousy before I started giggling. Nervous reaction, probably.

And then I just *had* to tease him about it. He should've told me *something* about what was going on. "Hey, Babs, I'm seeing someone," would have been enough. Thinking he could keep a secret from *me!* I owed him for that.

Garth was sweet. I'm going to enjoy getting to know him--he was so obviously concerned for me. And he ain't half-bad to look at, either. Really...built. Incredible, intense purple eyes. I think I'll have interesting dreams tonight.

Nightwing and Tempest. They even *sound* good together.

Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions too fast. Maybe it's just a fling, or something. I've got to make Dick talk to me about this. That oughta be fun.

I think--I *hope*--it's more. I want Dick to be happy. I'll be happy, with that.

I swear, if Bruce says one disapproving word about this, I'll fry every computer in his 'cave!

I'm the Oracle. I *watch.* That's what I do. And what I'd seen...

  
I'm *not* mistaken. Who wouldn't fall in love with him, after all?

 

  
 **Garth:**

"Just...love him, okay?"

Barbara said that, all concern and her own love for him unmistakable, and I only spoke truth when I answered, "yes."

I hadn't known it for truth, until then. Friendship, passion, comfort, yes, all of those things. But love?

"Robbie, I'll be back, I need a swim to clear my head." He nodded, changing into his costume, and I knew he'd be preoccupied for a few hours at least. Nightwing has a city under his guardianship, and he takes that responsibility seriously. But unlike his mentor, he still allows his other self a life apart from that, intertwined as they inevitably are. Dick Grayson and Nightwing, both my friend since I first came to the surface.

And now, more. Lover, that was one thing, and perhaps the simplest; I'd always admired him from afar, but never dreamed to hold him so. I had no inkling that he might want me in return. And far more importantly...there was Tula.

She had me, literally, from the moment we met. Tula, adopted daughter of the royal house of the city of Poseidonis. She fought and laughed and loved with a passion for life so profound it swept me up, pulled me out of shyness and uncertainty into that same enthusiasm. She never hesitated when some wrong needed to be righted or some offense troubled her sense of justice. Tula--it was only laughingly that she called herself "Aquagirl"--*shone,* she was a beacon in the dark ocean depths, she was all of my life and my heart. My love.

It still hurts, her death. Far worse was her false resurrection at the whim of Slizzath, my mad uncle. Mind fogged with Slizzath's sorcery, she fought me for his sake, and when she finally realized the truth of it she begged me to stop her. "If you ever loved me..."

Should I live an eternity, no moment will ever hurt as badly. There, among the warriors both living and dead, the words came like a flood from my soul. "My God, Tula, I loved you more than anyone I've ever known! I've never experienced feelings for anyone like the ones I feel for you…you were my world! You were the one great love of my life--and you're dead!" And I begged her to remember me, to remember that I loved her, as I destroyed that mockery of a form that Slizzath had raised...and all my hopes of her return with it.

I tell myself she would have thanked me for it, but that cannot erase the memory of her form shattered by nothing more than the strength in my hands.

But even that, even so horrible a moment, made in the end a kind of closure I'd been lacking. I finally told her and myself, after so long: "I can't keep waiting for you to come back to me, because you're not going to. I've got to go live the rest of my life and that means letting you go. ...for so long I was afraid that if I let go, I'd somehow forget you...and that you'd think I didn't love you anymore--that I was rejecting everything we'd ever shared. But I know now I could never forget you. You were my first love...and you'll always be a part of me. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure out that getting on with my life was the healthy thing to do, and that I wasn't forgetting a thing...and that it's what you'd want me to do, too. But I have figured it out now. And I've got to go--I've got to see what's out there, waiting for me. And trust that part of you will watch over and protect me...and guide me, always. ... I love you, Tula. I miss you."

And that was goodbye, at last. It was with a clear conscience that I reached for Richard when he so obviously needed a friend, for the loneliness that echoed to my own. Worse, perhaps; his memory of love for Koriand'r is clouded by other things, and far distant. Tula...is with me, even now.

I know she smiles, to see us.

I loved the passion in her, her strength, and I see so much of the same strength in him. It drives him, pushes him to test his limits, makes him in into the leader who leads simply by being there. Yet balanced by that is the talent for cold analysis learned from his mentor, the ability to see and judge a situation in a second's glance and immediately have the right answer. *Unlike* his teacher, that chill ability rarely impacts allies as well as enemies.

The Batman leads through fear. Nightwing inspires the Titans' love. There has never been any question to us which creates the stronger bond.

Still, sometimes that tendency to withdraw takes him; and for the first time, I find myself able to help *him.* With Tula I followed where she led, joyously, her passions our guiding spirit. Whereas I reached out to him when he would not, his strength inspiring mine and--I hope--the emotions I finally learned to express keeping him from his mentor's solitary fate. He is simply too beautiful to be allowed that.

I never looked for this. I spoke of Tula as the first great love of my life, and that remains true. The first--and I swear to it, I never thought there would be another. Friends, yes. Even friends I loved in body as well as spirit. But not--

I *know* that she would wish me to go on. I do know it. Yet until now I never sought...any other who might fill my heart, as she had. That might have been a betrayal of my love for her, and yes, I know she would shake her head at me to hear that. But it still would have been true.

There was no hint of this with any other, not with those in whom I sought comfort after her death, not even with Dolphin. I was still flush with the excitement of my new powers, and she was willing and beautiful and *there.* But for all the affection and desire between us, that was all it was. Besides which there were...other complications...that made things difficult. In the end it was just as well that we parted.

I don't know if Dick will ever understand what his friendship meant to me, all those years ago. He, Donna, Wally, Roy--they accepted me when my own people had left me to die. Arthur tried in his own way, but he was an indifferent father at best and I was always a secondary concern after his own family and troubles. With the Teen Titans I found a home for the first time. Family. Love. I never forgot that, not when I left the surface world, not with Tula who understood, not even in the transformation that remade me into Tempest.

I reached for him in friendship and long-standing desire. Now I want to stay, even on the surface that sometimes seems so stifling, to be with him. But it seems only right that one of my first and truest friends would be...has become so much more.

Trust the Oracle to speak true. "Just love him."

And I do.

 

 

**Dick:**

Mortal embarrassment quotient fulfilled for the day, it was time to go on patrol.

I'll kill Babs, I really will--catching us like that!

Why hadn't I told her?

The monitor was dark again by the time I figured it was safe to go back to the bedroom, and Garth was dressed. I pulled out my costume, feeling that old familiar adrenaline rush. In a couple of minutes I'd be over the city, flying--

"Robbie, I'll be back, I need a swim to clear my head."

I nodded absently, but by the time I looked up he was gone. "Robbie." From Roy that was almost mocking, a throwback to younger times and a reminder of when we were both "just" sidekicks. From Garth...it was an endearment, intimate and warming.

I'd felt a lot of that, lately. Warm. Comfortable. It was great having him around, really made the apartment feel like home with a friend to share things with. Getting to know him all over again had been just amazing--he'd grown so much, and I really admired the man he'd become. And, God, the sex was...unbelievable. Incredibly intense. I was half-hard again just thinking about the way he smelled, and tasted, and felt against me--

I could make a fortune to rival Bruce's if I could bottle my overactive hormones, I bet. Mind *out* of the gutter, Grayson, before there's a blue-and-black smear across Blüdhaven. Not that anyone would notice for all the other corpses. Nice thought.

Casting the jumpline, wind in my face, and why *hadn't* I told her?

No secrets between us, not anymore. Barbara knows me better than I know myself, I think. At least, she's usually right when she tells me I'm being stupid about something. Like the thing with Helena--I thought I'd *never* hear the end of that one!

So I sure as hell wasn't *ashamed* of Garth, and I figured she already knew about Joey, so that wasn't the problem.

Something about her knowing. ...I saw her face, she looked so pleased, like she was expecting...something more.

But that's silly. We've been friends for so long, of course it's been easy to adjust to him being here. I even told Tim my relationship with Garth was really about companionship and comfort. We have good chemistry. That's all. That's--

A load of crap, actually.

Because the thing is, I've been lying to myself.

...I haven't been *thinking* about it, I admit. It's been a lot of fun. Except--except there was that look on Babs' face, and I've been fooling myself about what this means for *him.*

Garth came back to the Titans time and again partly because of me. Flattering, sure, but...oh, shit, Grayson, just say it.

He loves you, and you can't deal.

He's my friend and I *do* love him as my friend, but I shouldn't be trying to--replace Tula, and I shouldn't be trying to turn it into something else.

God, I even said it about the Titans when we were talking about re-forming the team. "Everything gets so personal." I don't...*want*...that.

I can't go through it again. My "romances" always end badly. Never mind Emily, that was a case...or Miggie, even though that one ended in a funeral...or Helena, because that was just loneliness and hormones on both our parts. But Barbara insisted that whatever might have been with us had been shattered by the Joker's bullet. Joey's death tore my heart out. And Kory--God, she was my life, and we fell apart in the most painful way I could ever imagine. I can't...dammit, I won't go through that again. I won't put *Garth* through that.

And the longer this goes on, the harder it's gonna be.

It's got to stop before things get even more...complicated....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: The quotes about Garth's battle with the resurrected Tula, and those he spoke at her gravesite on letting go, are from *Tempest* #4. It would have been silly for me to try to paraphrase, since it was all said there so clearly and so well. It's all due to Phil Jimenez that Garth became such a compelling character--both physically and in characterization--and all praise for that should be laid at his feet. All blame for the rest is mine. ;)
> 
> Oh, and. Yes, the quoted material sounds different than how I've been writing Garth's "voice." Rationalization Lass has a reason for that: He's speaking in Atlantean, his native tongue, so of course his speech is a little more casual.


	9. Bitter Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sea & Sky VIII: Bitter Waters by kerithwyn.
> 
> Dick makes a decision; Garth reflects.

_"We must swim through the bitter waters to reach the sweet."_ \--Atlantean proverb

 

  
I don't know what color Dick's eyes are.

I understand they are called "blue," but my vision, adapted for the ocean depths, does not differentiate between blue and green and black. Still, they usually have a quality I recognize as something other than "black," a lighter shade that looks more like the sky at midday than at night.

When he returned from his patrol, his eyes were dark.

Before I can even ask, he says,

"This can't go on."

My first thought is, something in his city has gone bad; but no. He is looking at me with a strange expression, strained, and--

"I don't think we should do this anymore."

Wh--

"I mean, I don't *want* to, it's been terrific, but I think maybe...this isn't good for either of us."

I don't understand.

"We've been friends so long, I don't want to lose that...."

Like a cold wave it hits me.

This is Dick *leaving.*

I cannot speak.

"I just think it'd be best if we called it quits."

Why this, after what we have shared, after I have *just* realized what he means to me, how very much I have come to love him?

"And I don't want to hurt you, but for your own sake I--I mean, we just shouldn't make a big deal about this...."

*My* sake! How could he ever think--

No. Oh, Pallais, no.

He says that we should end this; that I have become too attached, and that he doesn't want to hurt me. That we have been friends too long, he will not risk losing that in a vain attempt--he actually uses those words!--at being something more. That he never intended....

The rest of his words are lost in the rise of my anger, and I have to turn away.

The very fact that he *dares* to try to dictate what is best for me--no, and not again. I had enough of that from Arthur. Even Atlan tried to shape me for his own purposes, to be some kind of destined "undersea protector." That may be; but I will not spend my life waiting for destiny to unfold around me. Now, I choose. I have learned to choose.

He says, "see, just look at how angry you are"--as if my anger was an ill thing, that I should care so deeply that this upsets me. It is *proof,* because anger is a rare thing for me, a difficult thing, for any number of reasons. The power I hold, for one; a mage must be controlled, calm, lest the forces he commands command him. And there is Arthur, himself an even more compelling argument. I have seen his anger, a rage that at times neared madness, and suffered the effects of it as well.

But if Dick--if *love* is not worth this, I don't know what might be.

He speaks of friendship and I want to weep, because he has done such a *fine* job of convincing himself that is all that has grown between us. So divorced from his own emotions, just like--

Yes. Just like *him.*

I breathe deep, and realize: these are the lies Dick tells himself, to hide from his own fear. I finally turn to tell him so--

\--but he is gone.

  
***

  
(Titans' Tower)

  
So I came here.

Here is where it began. Not physically; we five had nothing so fine as a Tower when we became a team. But this place has become the Titans' sanctuary, and I have a home here.

I still do. Despite what...has....

Oh, you gods of sea and sky, Pallais and Suula; how you must be laughing now. That a sea mage should love a son of the sky. "And never the twain shall--"

I don't believe that. I can't.

If I knew a magic to return him here, I would use it. If I had a spell to erase the fears in his eyes, I would cast it. It is only fear that makes him run, I see that--not lack of...caring, for me. Just fear of being left again, lost again, of being rejected again.

I never thought I could be stronger than him in any way. He was always our leader, my friend, an inspiration. But I said goodbye to Tula and was willing to stay with him, and he--

He cannot forget what happened with Kory. He hasn't forgotten the hurt of losing love. And even worse, he cannot acknowledge the greater love that has never been returned. The difficult thing he barely admits even to himself.

And there I stood, hearing him say all those things born of self-delusion, and *said nothing.*

The taste of that truth is a bitter thing indeed. The reasons why...lie in the shape of my own fears. For all I have learned, it seems I am still...afraid....

I never had an angry word with Tula, nor the Titans when I was younger. How could I? Right or wrong, I owed them too much; a home when I'd had none, love to fill the empty places. And I never, never raised my voice to Arthur. I did not *dare,* for fear I would be abandoned again. A child's fears, and unfair, because I know that he never would have done such a thing.

I know that *now.* Then....

But the patterns that shaped me linger, though I had been so proud of how I have changed by assuming my magical birthright, in letting Tula go, in *choosing* the Titans over being Arthur's councilor and bound to Poseidonis, whose citizens still whisper that the color of my eyes marks me for evil.

I left those things behind for the friends who love me, and a life on an alien surface where my power may still be used for good. I'll stay for these reasons; I won't leave this home I've chosen, not even for his sake. No matter how difficult that may be.

I could find him, track him to tell him how wrong he is, but I won't. Pride...pride be damned. It simply would do no good, because Dick needs to find his own truths.

But I swear: Given the chance...if he *gives* me the chance, I will find the words. This time, fear of losing love will not stop me from saying what needs to be said; because if he cannot bear to hear it, then perhaps there is nothing worth saving, after all.

And I believe, with all my heart, that there is.


	10. Oracle Interlude 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sea & Sky IX: Oracle Interlude 2 by kerithwyn.
> 
> Babs learns of recent developments.

**(Part 1: Oracle)**

  
My monitor beeps and I hear his voice.

"Babs, I need some information--"

Hi, Dick, how are you? Oh, I'm fine. Yourself?

*sigh* These Batboys. Always in a hurry. I click on the video.

"Sure thing, Former Boy Wonder. In a second. How's the job going? How's your roomie?"

"He's back at Titans' Tower. I'm looking to track down...."

Whoa, partner. "Hold on one second. What do you mean, 'back at the Tower'? Did you guys have a fight? What's--"

"Barbara--"

You want info, so do I. "Spill, Dick."

He blows out a frustrated breath. "We're all adults here. We're friends. We had fun. End of story. Now, can you--"

The hell...? "It's over, just like that? Wham, bam, thank you, that's it? Doesn't sound like you at all."

He laughs, a short humorless sound. For a second I hear Bruce. It's creepy. "Really? Last time, the thing with Helena, you said it was *exactly* like me, always thinking with my--"

"Oh, come on. This was different. I saw something between you guys, I thought you'd try to hold onto it."

"You thought wrong."

"I didn't." I'm glaring at him now, eyes narrowed. "I *know* what I saw. Dick, you're being stupid, I've *seen* how he looks at you. You'd see it too, if you weren't so busy denying it."

"It's not that, it's--Babs, give me a break, willya?"

"No way. All right, so if you know how he feels, what's your excuse?"

"We're friends, I thought it was better if we stayed friends and not tried to turn it into something else. I've got a hellhole of a city to watch out for, and I can't afford--"

Oh, for the love of-- "Not *that* again. You're not Bruce! You don't have to hide like he does. For God's sake, Dick, I've seen you in love--with Kory, remember? Remember how happy you were? Why would you *ever* want to throw that away?!"

Dick's face is closed, reflecting nothing. "What if it's not--that. Not like that."

I'm totally appalled. I can't believe I'm hearing this. "So how are you supposed to know, if you don't try? Flawed logic, Grayson. Koriand'r may've thrown herself into your lap but you're actually going to have to *try* with him. He's not that easy."

A flicker of anger. "Don't--"

"All right, maybe that was out of line. I like Kory well enough. But come on, Dick. That was pretty much love at first sight, right? You didn't have to fight for her."

"I went through a lot, to be able to love her!"

"I know you did. I know, Dick. The Batman never did so you thought Robin shouldn't either. Everyone was glad when you figured out what utter *crap* that was."

"Babs!"

"I've talked to Donna and the others. They saw how hard you struggled with it. Kory was good for you, she really was. She helped you stay--kept you from becoming like Bruce. He's strong and brilliant and *lonely,* Dick."

"This isn't about him."

"Bullshit!" I glare at him fiercely. "Everything is about the damn Bat, his obsessions and what he's done to us--" I have to stop and take a deep breath. "But you're not him. You already know that. That's not the problem. So I have to ask: What are you afraid of, anyway?"

The connection goes dead. He hung up on *me.* It's childish, but I let out a short shriek of frustration and throw the headset across the room. What the hell is *wrong* with him?!

Maybe I can find out from the other end.

 

  
 **(Part 2, some hours later: Tempest)**

  
It's a routine call, the Titans consulting the Oracle for information, until at the end the electronic mask says, "I'd like to speak with Tempest alone, please."

The others look at me questioningly but file out, and when they're gone the mask dissolves and resolves into Barbara Gordon's face.

"Garth--"

I see it on her face. "You've spoken to him."

"Uh-huh. What *happened?!* What's going on?"

The intensity of her concern is more than I can stand. I feel my fists clench, unbidden. "I--can't. I can't say."

Her swearing blisters my ears. "Goddammit, I knew he was being an idiot, I tried to *tell* him--oh, God, Garth, I'm so sorry, he's a fool."

I don't want to say-- "After you called last time, when you said to love him--that was when I realized, that I did."

Her eyes are full of frustrated tears. "I know, I do understand, I--"

"I know."

"Why is he *doing* this? He wouldn't tell me what was wrong, I can't figure it out...."

Fear. Just and only that. Nothing I can do anything about. I feel as powerless as "Aqualad" used to be.

Thankfully, she interrupts my thoughts. "Can you come here, to Gotham? So we can really talk?"

"I shouldn't intrude...."

"Of course not, it's not intruding, I just thought you might want--"

"A friend. Someone who loves him, as well."

Her eyes are steady. "Yes."

It's a kind offer, more than generous. And tempting. I haven't been able to share this with anyone, even if I'd wanted to; because, of course, no one knows about what happened between Dick and I except the young Robin and the Oracle.

But she and I know each other only in passing, and in light of her feelings for him...it would be awkward and perhaps even cruel to speak of Dick as a lover to her. So.

"Thank you, Barbara. That's very kind. But I'll be fine."

The way she looks at me says she isn't fooled for a moment. "Yeah. I know all about 'fine.' I say that a lot, too. Okay. Just remember I'm willing to listen, anytime."

I manage to nod and even smile and she smiles back, tightly. "Oracle out."

And then I go about being "fine" for another day.


	11. Three Words (a Titans moment)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sea & Sky X: Three Words (a Titans moment) by kerithwyn.
> 
> Donna has a few words with her teammate.

Days had gone by, and Donna Troy had just about enough.

Garth had returned to Titans' Tower and *stayed,* which was unusual enough, but add to that a considerable amount of what Donna could only call "brooding" and something had to be done. Not that he'd revealed whatever was wrong to anyone, though that wasn't strange in and of itself. Garth rarely shared personal troubles even with his oldest friends.

But Donna wasn't about to let him get away with it this time.

She cornered him in the kitchen. "Garth, are you all right?"

"Hm?" He looked at her blankly. "Fine."

"Oh, sure, you *sound* 'fine.'"

"It's nothi--" he began, than stopped. "Perhaps I should have returned to Poseidonis after all."

She frowned. "And what? Been miserable there instead of here? Your friends are here, Garth, talk to us. Talk to *me.*"

He looked at her searchingly, then away. "You have enough trouble playing 'mom' to the rest of the team, I wouldn't add to that."

"Oh, stop." The annoyance in her voice was enough to draw his gaze back. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know. You know I love you, and it hurts to see you like this."

"...I do know. Thank you, Donna. That means the world to me."

It wasn't another refusal, so.... Donna considered for a moment and then asked carefully, "Does this have something to do with Aquaman?"

"No." There was nothing but utter certainty in that reply. Garth continued without bitterness. "We have come to an understanding. He has stopped trying to order my life and I have learned to stop caring for his approval. We have a very civil relationship, Arthur and I."

She winced a little at that, but let it go. "So then--what is it? I'm worried, that's all. I haven't seen you this hurt since--well, in a long time."

"Since Tula. I remember how you were there for me, Donna."

"Then let me be there again. Let me help."

He stared off for a long several moments before answering. "Say there were someone. Someone who means a great deal to me, and has come to mean even more in recent days--" he broke off. "I'm sorry. That sounds terribly formal. This is--this is difficult...."

Wow. That *was* news. Trust Garth to be close-mouthed about even something that important. But this sounded like serious heartbreak-potential. "Something happened?"

"Yes. We--things had been going so well, and then suddenly it was *over.* For reasons that are so irrational--" He looked at her helplessly. "What do you say to someone so determined to hide behind a lie?"

"Well, if she--

Garth spoke quietly. "And if I said 'he' instead--"

That was new too, but then again the Atlantean mindset wasn't so different from the Amazon one about that kind of thing. Donna went on without blinking. "--if he isn't willing to be honest, then maybe it's for the best."

"Except that I haven't felt anything as deeply since Tula, and I can't let it go so easily. I *want* to fight for this. If he gives me the chance. But he's been avoiding me, and I won't chase him."

Insight came in one of those moments of perfect clarity. "Someone who means a great deal--" and Donna didn't know all of Garth's friends undersea, but he'd never mentioned anyone that close. She knew he'd been down to Blüdhaven a number of times in recent past because he'd left Dick's number for an emergency contact. And Nightwing hadn't been around the Titans lately. He'd been "busy."

And Donna thought, "Oh, Dick, what have you done?"

Aloud, she said, "Then...Garth, if you feel that strongly, the relationship *is* worth fighting for. Find him. Tell him. He'd be a fool not to appreciate you." Oh, she could just imagine the lies Dick was telling himself. He'd pulled the same kind of nonsense with Kory. She loved him dearly, but there was no one as good at hiding from his own emotions as Dick Grayson. Unless it was his mentor.

"Ah, but I knew *that.*" She was startled by the unexpected humor in Garth's voice, and relieved to see him smiling. He'd be so *good* for Dick--if he could get through. Then he sobered again, and said, "Perhaps you're right."

"Just be honest. Don't accept anything less than honesty from him. And--*don't give up.*" Which was probably the most important thing about dealing with Dick, but if she said any more she'd give away what she knew.

But he only nodded and then asked slyly about her redeveloping relationship with Roy, and once she'd blushed and stammered and found a way to evade the question he didn't seem inclined to discuss the problem further.

He surprised her by saying, "In any case I should have things to keep me busy shortly. There have been difficulties between Atlantis and the surface world, and Arthur...is not diplomatic. To put it mildly. So I thought it was time I stepped in and took on the responsibilities of an ambassador, not just the title. 'Earning my keep,' as it were."

Donna smiled. "I think that'd be good for you. We...well, we'd all noticed you were spending more time away from Atlantis. I'm trying to figure out what to do with myself when the Titans aren't fighting, too." Too easy to fall into despair over everything she'd lost, but she deliberately pushed the memories down. This wasn't about her. Not today.

He looked curious. "Your photography?"

"Mm-hmm, maybe." A thought struck her and she grinned. "Well, now. You're going to play diplomat, you should look the part. And who better to dress you for it than a fashion photographer?" At his questioning look she just laughed. "Let's go shopping."

He raised an eyebrow at her, starting to smile. "I thought that was Argent's vice."

Donna laughed. "I can endure shopping in a good cause. Besides, you should look respectable. Wouldn't *that* be a nice change for this group?"

"Too true." He came around the counter and pulled her into an embrace. "Thank you, Donna."

"Anytime."

He kissed her cheek and let her go and they left the Tower, and the rest of the day was given over to just *being* without thought for the Titans, or her troubled past, or his troubled romance. Which was, Donna thought later, precisely what they'd both needed.

And virtuously, she refrained from calling Dick and telling him what an idiot he was. But only just.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That title? Huh?
> 
> ...well, I once read that the three most beautiful words in the English language weren't the expected "I love you," but rather, "*let me help.*"
> 
> That must have some truth to it, because the saying has stuck with me. And they *exemplify* Donna Troy.
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, and both Dannell and Carmen wanted me to write the shopping trip, but I loathe shopping ;), and in any case I didn't want to hold this series up any longer. Anyone up for that? Please? I think it'd be hysterical.
> 
>  
> 
> Next: What has Dick been up to?
> 
> The plot thickens.
> 
> Dannell? You're up, O co-plotter of mine. :)


	12. El Dorado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sea & Sky XI: El Dorado by Dannell.
> 
> On the edge of No Man's Land, Dick meets an angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPIFFY DISCLAIMER THINGIE!  
> Nightwing, Azrael, No Man's Land and all the rest are the property of DC Comics! Ah do not own them:) More's the pity! This is a work of fanfiction for entertainment purposes only and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights held by DC Comics or others!
> 
> Rated R for mature subject matter and situations. WARNING! HERE BE M/M SLASH! If'n that sort of thing offends ya'll then skedaddle:)
> 
> As usual, there is no continuity to speak of in this story:) It takes place sometime Post-Quake and before the current storyline where Gotham rejoins the USA! The poem, "El Dorado" by Edgar A. Poe is used without permission but, again, no copyright infringement is intended. And I'm pretty sure not too many other folks have used the Bible as erotica.... but there ya'll go! Ah don't own *that*, either:):)
> 
> Eleventh in the "Sea and Sky" series. Note: For the original version of "El Dorado," visit the Batman! site at http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Shuttle/4853/ElDorado.html

"What the hell are *you* doing here!" demanded the strident voice of Nightwing, Dick Grayson, louder and harsher than he'd intended at first sight of the other, larger man.

"The same as you, I imagine," replied Jean-Paul Valley, readjusting the duffel bag on his broad shoulder. "The Batman needs our help, non?"

"*Non* is right," snapped Nightwing. "He doesn't need *your* help, anyway."

The tall, blond man sighed. "Mon ami," he began, but Nightwing cut him off abruptly.

"Don't call me that! I'm *not* your friend," he spat.

Twin searchlight beams stabbed through the heart of the night, shattering the concealing darkness. Nightwing and Jean-Paul both threw themselves to the ground out of range of the probing brilliance.

"Guard shack. 100 yards. East..." signaled Jean-Paul in Amslan, his hands moving swiftly in the language of the deaf.

Startled, Dick blinked back astonishment before he replied in the same silent tongue. "Know it. Meet you."

With a silent nod, they headed for their rendezvous, each in an opposite direction to confuse anyone who might be watching. Moving like a shadow as the Batman had taught him so long ago, Dick Grayson considered that Jean-Paul Valley knew Amslan. He, too, had been taught by Bruce Wayne, after all, and the language of the deaf was perfect for communication in utter silence when the necessity called for it. Still, despite that...it surprised him. He found himself frowning. How many other things about Jean-Paul Valley did he not know? What else lurked behind the shield of those mild, round professorial glasses and that mane of long blond hair? A sharp intelligence, it seemed. The thought disturbed him.

As he made his way in the dimness and silence of the rigidly patrolled perimeter of No Man's Land, Dick realized that he had never thought of Valley as stupid. There might be plethora of things he disliked and resented about the young French hero...but that wasn't one of them. From all evidence, the man was almost as good with a computer keyboard as Oracle. And Babs was second to none. Valley was at least as good a hacker as Tim; and the third Robin to wear the costume and take the name frequently made Dick feel inadequate in front of his computer.

He lost himself so deep in thought that he almost passed the rendezvous point without noticing. "Damn it, Grayson!" his inner voice was harsh, castigating, "get it together, pal! You've been a total wreck since Alfred called this morning. Alfred said that Bruce has been 'incommunicado' for 72 hours. He said that he had 'cause for concern'. And that's *all* he said, okay?"

But if Barbara had called in Jean-Paul Valley...then things might be a little more uncertain than simple "concern," mightn't they be?

And the truth was...he'd been more than a little relieved to get that call. Not that Bruce was missing, of course, but for the necessity of *doing* something. Getting out of his apartment and the routine of the 'Haven, which had been uncommonly quiet lately. Never a bad guy around when you needed one. But at least this got him moving again and let him stop thinking about Garth. What he'd said to Garth. The sneaking suspicion that he'd been really *stupid* about--

Taking a deep breath, he backtracked himself and slipped silently into the darkened guard hut. Perversely, he touched the side of his mask to turn the nightvision lenses off. There was nothing here he *wanted* to see--but despite that, he found that he didn't need his eyes to tell him of someone else's presence. He settled into the darkness, letting it cover and comfort him. How many times had he and the Batman waited patiently in just such a place as this, just such a darkness? Touching and talking for hours like Helen Keller and her beloved teacher Annie Sullivan. Waiting and perhaps a bit afraid...but not alone.

Never alone.

"Azrael?"

"He is not here, I'm afraid. Will I do?"

"Don't play word games, Valley. You know what I mean. He's here all right. In that duffel bag you brought with you. All you have to do is put on the suit. Joy, joy. I'm stuck here with you until daylight. Just before dawn is best for crossing into Gotham. The guards are tired and least observant then. Until then, can we just ignore one another or something?"

Even the weary sigh that reached Dick's ears was melodic, musical. "Nightwing...I didn't *choose* to become Batman when Bane broke your mentor's back. Must you continue to punish me for the Batman's decision?"

Dick curled up in a corner of the darkened shack as far away from the sound of that voice as he could find. And still it followed him; gave him no peace. Valley was right, wasn't he? It was Bruce who'd made the decision. Bruce, who hadn't trusted his sidekick Dick Grayson, little Robin, to be good enough to succeed him and aspire to the Mantle of the Bat.

Bruce.

But it was Jean-Paul Valley who'd always paid the price in Dick's scorn and the sharp edge of his quick tongue.

"It should have been *me,*" he hissed into the silence and the dimness. "*Me!*" The pain in his rough voice surprised even him.

"Yes, it should have been."

"You...admit that?"

"Should I not? It is true. Choosing me to replace him was the gravest error the Batman has ever made. Like all the rest of him...his lapses in judgement are not small. Non, there's nothing small about him."

The voice tightened a bit before it continued. For a moment Dick was glad that he could not peer into the darkness that enwrapped them. He had no desire to see Jean-Paul Valley's face just then. And even less desire than that to understand him better.

"But it was not I who paid the piper for that mistake. Nor even the Batman. Nor *you.* That blood was shed by two innocents. And would you like to know the greatest joke of it all? Of the whole, entire tragedy?"

"What's that?"

"I can't even remember their names, anymore. The two who died. There have been so many.... Their names are lost in a legion of others. But I still see their faces." The silence that descended like a curtain between them separated them just as surely.

Then why do you let Azrael do it? Dick wondered. Why aren't you strong enough to stop him? Dick did not want to feel compassion for the lost young man Jean-Paul Valley. He did not. The question that came to him was only supposed to be only a diversion, a swift change of subject. But even before it left his lips it became something more; much more.

"Jean-Paul? Can--can I ask you a question? Maybe you know the answer."

"Of course. Ask away."

"Did Bruce ever say...ever tell you *why* he passed me over? Why I wasn't good enough?"

At his side his hands knotted themselves into tight fists until he was sure Valley would hear the sound of his knuckles cracking. Again, he was glad of the sheltering, concealing darkness. Perhaps Bruce was right to love it so. And Valley had gone silent.

Long enough to start thinking again, that same old self-rationalization. "I'm just tired is all. Tired and worried. Things have gone from bad to worse for Gotham and Bruce. And the 'Haven is starting to really feel the pressure of all those new people. Cadet Grayson is still about the only honest cop in town. You've been working overtime both as the 'Wingster and Dick Grayson. How long has it been since you've had a good night's sleep, anyway?" Since Garth left. No, be honest; since he made Garth leave. Dammit. He hated sleeping alone. "You're just tired."

From his corner, Jean-Paul Valley spoke at last and drew Dick back outside himself. "He did not have to. The why of it was plain to me from the beginning. But I lied to myself, convinced that it didn't matter. That, given time, I could earn his respect, his...affection...."

From the direction of the young Frenchman's voice came the sounds of restless Brownian movement, as if his body were searching frantically for a way out, some means of flight or escape. Holding his silence, Dick Grayson rested his head on his knees and waited. He'd always been very good at that.

"He did it for you. Because he didn't want you to face Bane."

Dick's voice was bitter and brittle in his own ears like flawed crystal.

"He didn't trust me to be good enough."

"No! That's not it at all! How can such a one as you be so great a fool?"

"Thanks."

"You really can't see it, can you?"

In the darkness, a shrug. "What's there to see?"

"The truth. That his fear led him to do something he knew was a mistake. That he betrayed himself with his desire to keep you safe. There are many ways of dying, my friend. Azrael is an expert on that." If Jean-Paul noticed that Dick did not protest being called "friend" this time he gave no sign of it. Dick's hands began to loosen themselves and he sat very still.

"Have you ever thought of what might have happened if you'd fought Bane? You might very well have survived and the Batman knew that. You are clever and skilled. But most likely you'd have had to kill Bane to stop him. The Batman knew *that,* too. Could you have lived with that?"

"I--don't know."

"He wasn't willing for you to have to try. And there was always the possibility of your death at the hands of Bane. Battle is an uncertain thing, not always won or lost by the skill of the men who fight. He'd rather have died himself than let you risk your life."

"So where did *you* fit into all this?"

The answer was immediate, like an echo. "Into the slot marked 'Disposable'...'Expendable.' That killing Bane might...disturb...*me* he never considered. After all, I was *Azrael*--and Azrael was a thing made for killing, carefully shaped and crafted for it by the Order of St. Dumas, like a well-designed sword or pistol. And my safety was not so much a matter to him of trust as it was the lesser of two evils. He was willing to live with my death if he must. But not yours."

"That's not true! He-- Bruce would never..." Dick found his words trailing off. Jean-Paul did not bother to answer. The other man's silence was answer enough, after all.

"Wouldn't *you* risk the life of a relative stranger to protect Bruce?" Dick asked himself with relentless honesty. "Wouldn't you?" He began to chew at the skin of his lower lip and it wasn't until he tasted the salt tang of blood that he had his answer.

Yes. Yes, he would.

For *Bruce.*

"That must have hurt you deeply."

"Does that matter?' The voice that came to Dick's sharp, discerning ears was strained, not entirely steady. Despite strong efforts to the contrary sadness and loneliness rang through it like a chiming bell.

Dick's hands shook and he clutched at his knees, tightly, in a futile effort to calm them. In his own small corner of the tiny shack, he heard Jean-Paul Valley stir; the soft susurrus of cloth upon flesh. Finally Jean-Paul spoke, filling the looming, threatening silence.

"Are you hungry?"

"A little."

"I have chocolate."

The effort at lightness and humor was a valiant one. Yet still, the soft voice betrayed the speaker. Dick heard the almost-silent sound of a zipper in action and guessed that Jean-Paul was opening his duffel to get at the promised treat. He smiled at the quiet sounds of digging and fumbling about that reached him along with the muttered words of impatience.

"Where...I know I have it in here someplace...I--Merde!" The explosive burst of profanity startled Dick, bringing him completely alert. What in the name of--Jean-Paul, *cursing?!* Dick's knowledge of the language of Voltaire was, admittedly, a bit rusty, but not so oxidized that he didn't recognize the French word for "shit."

"Jean-Paul? What--"

Before he even felt the round hardness tap him gently on the knee, he heard it rolling across the floor in his direction. By instinct, he reached out and grabbed it before it could roll away once again. Sensitive fingers brought him the feel of taut stretched leather, precisely sewn seams. In searching through his bag for the chocolate to be shared Jean-Paul had evidently dislodged a--a--

It was a baseball. No question about it. He was holding a baseball. A Little League-style softball, by the size and feel of it. The smell of the thing was new and his fingers brought him no sign that it had ever been used. He held it to his nose and inhaled more deeply. There was no lingering scent of ink about it, nor embossing. Probably not signed, then.

Apparently, it was just an unused, not very remarkable softball of no special make or quality. Available in the Sports section of toy stores or department stores virtually anywhere.

The rising, frantic note in Jean-Paul's voice propelled Dick out of his puzzled reverie and back into the situation at hand. Dick could hear the young Frenchman feeling frantically about with his hands, searching for his lost baseball with quick, sharp movements that grew louder with each passing moment.

"Where is it?" he cried. "It must be--"

"Hey, hey.... Easy, Jean-Paul, easy. It's all right. I've got it right here. It isn't lost. Don't worry."

Soft footsteps swiftly approaching. A looming presence, felt but not seen, in the darkness. Grasping hands claiming their prize, then the hurried steps of an embarrassed retreat. And not a single word spoken. Not one.

"I didn't know you played baseball." Dick tried to keep his voice level without awkward inquiry or accusation.

"I don't," came the flat voiced reply, after a moment.

"A fan. Hey, I can relate. Football is my game. Gotham Knights' fan all the way. Got the T-shirt and everything. Bruce and I buy each other season's tickets every year for our birthdays. Don't usually get to use them much, but..."

"I have never seen a game of baseball played. I know nothing of the sport."

"Then why--? Sorry. None of my business, really."

"It...was a gift."

"A gift? That's great. From who?" Idle conversation was not always an easy thing to come by with Jean-Paul Valley.

"My--my father."

"He was a fan then." The stillness from the other side of the room was increasing geometrically, it seemed. Nervous, Dick shifted his weight and waited.

"No...he never saw a game, either..."

"Then *why*--?"

Dick bit his tongue. The awkward question was no more tactful the second time around than the first, he discovered to his chagrin. Why can't I get myself together around this guy, he wondered? What is it about him that makes me so crazy? Uneasily, he stirred again, already suspecting the answer to *that.*

"A woman with a small child suggested to him that he might wish to buy his son a present. She had no way of knowing... the truth. That I had only seen my father very seldom and then only for a brief time. Ludovic Valley was a stranger to his son and his son was a stranger to him. A baseball. A foolish thing, non? A f-f-f-oolish..."

"Are--are you crying?"

"No!"

But he was. The lie was...a foolish thing. Dick let his ears guide him across the room to the source of those soft sobs. Such deep grief...and so very very *quiet*...as if it did not wish to intrude itself upon a busy world. When he touched it, Jean-Paul Valley's face was wet. Uncertainly, he slipped his arms around the other man's shoulders.

"Shhhhh. It's all right. It's okay to cry; it's okay. I've cried a lot, over the years, about...things...Shhhhh... Shhhhh..."

"Azrael does not cry."

"Maybe not. But I'll bet Jean-Paul Valley cries. I know Dick Grayson does."

"I was a week past my twenty-first birthday; a graduate student in computer science at Gotham State University. He forgot my birthday. There was no word from him then. I did not expect any. Why--why a gift *later*? Did he know...somehow sense.... And why a baseball? That is a gift for a child. He knocked on the back door to my apartment, the alley entrance, and when I answered the door there he was. He didn't say a word. He simply handed me the sack with the baseball in it. 'What's this?' I asked. 'A present,' he replied. And then he left, in silence much as he arrived." The body in Dick's arms shook and trembled. "A foolish gift from a foolish man..."

Dick tightened his embrace, holding the other man more closely against the warmth of his body in the vastness of the night as if to protect him and waited again.

"The next time I saw him, the next time I heard that quiet tap at my back door, he was dying, grievously wounded. He could barely speak. Knowing that.... He did not tell me he loved me. He did not say good-bye. He told me that I was Azrael. And that Azrael must not fail in his mission of vengeance."

Dick Grayson ran his fingers through long silky blond hair, stroking, comforting, and Jean-Paul Valley did not stop him.

"He was no one to me; nothing and no one. I did not know him."

"He was your *father.*"

"I have other 'fathers!' A cat for quickness and agility. A wolf for fierceness. And I am strong. Very strong. There must be a great ape somewhere in my genetic makeup for strength. And other...less desirable...*things.* The Order of St. Dumas was very particular. They chose only the best animals when they made me." Silence. But that was soon shattered.

"But no *bats,*" Jean-Paul Valley observed in bitterness. "I was a poor Batman, indeed."

Dick closed his eyes.

"Torturing yourself doesn't help, you know. Take my word for it. *I'm* the expert on that."

"Non? Then w-what does help?"

"Other people. If you let them. And if they care about you."

"Where would I find someone like that?"

"Maybe...closer than you think. That's usually how it works, anyway. Unexpectedly. They sneak up on you when you're not looking."

"Nightwing?"

"Dick...you know my name, Jean-Paul, you can use it."

"Dick?" He could feel the smile grow against the flesh of his neck. "An--unfortunate--name in many ways, non?"

Dick laughed. "Oui," he agreed. "But there're plenty of people who'll tell you that it fits me like a glove...that I'm a--dick, all right."

Against his will he felt himself stir at the feel of the man in his arms, the sound of that musical voice with its soft accent. He ground his teeth together in frustration. "And, by God, they're right about that, aren't they, Grayson? The damn thing seems to be the only part of your body that never fails you. Christ."

The uncertain hand that found his thigh in the dark took him completely by surprise. Startled, he stiffened and the hand withdrew itself as if it had touched fire.

Wrong, it would be wrong because--because....

Well, why *not?* He'd broken it off with Garth, he was a free man. In fact he'd broken it off because of the intensity, it wasn't likely to be that way with Jean-Paul, and--

And he just wasn't going to think about that anymore. This was--this was just...sex. Easy. Simple.

"Pardonne!" cried Jean-Paul. "I did not mean...I--I..."

After a moment Dick found his voice and answered. "That's a shame, then. I was hoping you did."

"N'est pas? You--you *were?*"

"Uh huh. You don't have to stop if you don't want to."

"I do not want to. But I...I do not know...I have never..."

Dick smiled. "First time with another guy, huh? That's okay. It's not my first--"

"My first time with anyone. Ever," said Jean-Paul Valley, slowly.

Dick lost his smile. "You're--not kidding, are you." It wasn't a question, really.

"I will try not to be too clumsy," Jean-Paul promised, his voice full of anxious embarrassment. "I have read books...heard others speak of such things...I.... I learn quickly."

Dick stroked his cheek. Such soft skin.... "No, no...it's not that. It's not that at all, Jean-Paul. I'm not worried about me. I don't want to hurt you or frighten you, is all."

"I'm not afraid."

"...and I'm not sure I'm up to this, frankly. I've never been anyone's 'first' before. That's kind of daunting."

A soft chuckle came to his ears. "Then...'but screw your courage to the sticking point,'" said Jean-Paul.

"Ouch. My God, that's a worse pun than any I ever made!"

"It pleased you?"

"A lot. You're a surprising guy, Jean-Paul. Do you like poetry?"

"Very much. I am fondest of Edgar Allan Poe."

Recalling the gloomy death-obsessed poet of the bizarre and the macabre, Dick rolled his eyes. "You would be." Then he smiled, reaching for Jean-Paul's sneakers. They came off easily and the young Frenchman did not protest. His breath grew shallow with excitement. Dick's own hands were steady when he pulled the thin T-shirt off and added it to the growing pile of discarded clothes beside them.

"I had in mind something a little more...traditional. You familiar with 'The Song of Solomon' from the Bible?" He could almost feel the other man's face brighten beneath his hands.

Dick ran his hand slowly down the arch of Jean-Paul's foot and began to caress it, then he pressed it to his mouth. With soft lips he kissed the instep, tasting the tartness of Jean-Paul's skin and the musk of his own rising desire. In the darkness his hands and Jean-Paul's voice were his guide.

"I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys," Dick said softly and Jean-Paul murmured pleasantly at the sound of the familiar words. Dick's hand ghosted up the tantalizing muscles along Jean-Paul's inner thigh before coming to rest on the rising swell of his groin.

"As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters. As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste." Dick lay his cheek on the curve of Jean-Paul's ankle and stroked the fine gold chain encircling it.

"Solomon was a great poet, mon ami," Jean-Paul breathed, "but not even he could have done *you* true justice." With strong arms the hero encircled Dick's waist and covered the other's lips with his.

Gently, Dick began to explore the sweetness of Jean-Paul's mouth. "Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, and thy speech is comely: thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate within thy locks." He kissed Jean-Paul's eyes, entwined his fingers in that long blond hair. Slowly, his lips moved down to the column of Jean-Paul's neck, leaving feather-light butterfly kisses in his wake.

Jean-Paul gasped and drew in a shaky breath. "Ah!" he cried. "Ah! Ah!"

"Thy neck is like the tower of David builded for an armory, whereon there hang a thousand bucklers, all shields of mighty men."

Busy hand whispered down the tall body; over the muscled chest. Dick's lips and mouth teased and caressed their way down the soft flesh leaving pleasure behind them. Like a suppliant at an altar, he worshiped at the shrine of the other man's proffered body pausing here and there as it pleased his lover.

"Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies."

Like a whisper, Dick's hands traced the shape of Jean-Paul's nipples and felt them harden under his fingers. He lowered his head and worshiped them a bit more avidly.

"Come with me from Lebanon, my friend," Jean-Paul murmured, "come with me from Lebanon: look from the top of Amana, from the top of Shenir and Hermon, from the lions' dens, from the mountains of the leopards. Thou hast ravished my heart, my brother, my friend; thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck. How fair is thy love, my brother, my friend! How much better is thy love than wine! And the smell of thine ointments than all spices."

With a deep breath Dick inhaled the perfume of Jean-Paul's hair. When his lips found the other hero's full mouth once more he nibbled carefully and traced their outline with an agile tongue. "Thy lips, O my brother, drop as the honeycomb: honey and milk are under thy tongue; and the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon." He kissed Jean-Paul again, more deeply this time. "A garden enclosed is my brother, my friend;" declared Dick as Jean-Paul arched his back and cried out, softly. "A spring shut up, a fountain sealed. Thy plants are an orchard of pomegranates, with pleasant fruits; camphire, with spikenard. Spikenard and saffron; calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense; myrrh and aloes, with all the chief spices. A fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, and streams from Lebanon."

Dick's hands drank in the feel of the other man, hungrily. When Dick took him, Jean-Paul abandoned himself completely, gasping with pleasure like a leaf in a high wind.

"Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south;" they whispered together, "blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits."

Soon after that, there was no time for even the most beautiful of poetry. Many moments passed before either of them found their voice again.

"D-Dick? Is it always like this? So--so *intense?*"

Dick let his smile creep into his voice. "If you're lucky."

Like magnets drawn to a lodestone rock, Jean-Paul's hand found Dick's waning hardness and lingered. "I will try and make it as pleasant for *you,*" vowed Jean-Paul. "You have set me a good example." Long fingers curved lightly along the sensitive underside of Dick's rising length and circled the head of its fullness with a thumb.

"And you took notes, I see!" Dick gasped and shivered at the young man's touch. Again, he could feel the heat of Jean-Paul's blush, imagine the twinkle in his blue eyes. Dick snuggled closer as Jean-Paul's hands roamed over his chest and lower belly, finally coming to rest once more between Dick's muscular thighs. Dick gasped.

"The Lord works in mysterious ways," he intoned, rising to the occasion, "his miracles to perform."

When Dick Grayson fell to sleep at last, he was smiling. He dreamed of gardens and spices and the feel of soft flesh beneath his hands and he was not tired any longer.

*******************

Sleepily Dick reached out for his companion in the darkness of the night. He lifted his head when his hands fell on empty air and looked blearily about.

"Jean-Paul?"

For a moment the silence was his only answer. In the dimness his sharp eyes brought him the shape of a tall shadow sitting utterly still and quiet in a neglected corner of the tiny guard post. He tensed. Somehow, the posture...the *presence* of the figure....

No...not Jean-Paul Valley. He knew that.

"Non, Jean-Paul is...gone...." said a deeper, harsher voice than the one he'd hoped for.

"Azrael," Dick sighed, mouth gone suddenly dry. He tried very hard to keep his lips from setting themselves into a thin, white line of distant disapproval.

And...loss?

He found that he did not entirely succeed.

"It's almost time for us to go," the Angel of Vengeance said, impatience staining the rich timbres of his voice. "The morning guards will be arriving soon." His mask covered the whole of his face, so Dick could catch no glimpse of the shy young man, Jean-Paul Valley. He sighed in resignation when he noticed the small pair of gold wire framed glasses sitting casually, discarded on a table.

"Give me a minute," Dick said and rose to dress.

"What's the problem here, Grayson?" he quizzed himself without mercy for his weakness of the night before. "You *knew* the Angel was bound to show up sooner or later. Jean-Paul Valley *is* Azrael. And you seduced him. Deal with it. You were lonely and afraid for Bru-- just afraid, okay? So you did something really stupid and now you regret it. It wouldn't be the first time. Ask the Huntress about that. And it probably won't be the last, either."

He refused to let himself look at Azrael, watching silent in his corner, as he pulled on the protection of his costume. What the other man though or felt, if anything, of the night before was, of course, impossible to tell. And perhaps that was best, after all.

Still...it would be comforting to know that it meant *something....*

"If it does, you'll never know it, pal," he told himself and reached for his boots.

He found the note neatly folded in his left boot pocket, tucked safely away from harm and all notice until he was ready to read it. He recognized the precise, controlled handwriting immediately. Its careful letters and small concise dotted i's and crossed t's made it plain to any stranger that there was more to the simple young man Jean-Paul Valley than met the eye. Reading the note, he smiled.

 _Gaily bedight,_  
A gallant knight,  
In sunshine and in shadow,  
Had journeyed long,  
Singing a song,  
In search of Eldorado.

 _And, as his strength_  
Failed him at length,  
He met a pilgrim shadow-   
"Shadow," said he,   
"Where can it be--   
This land of Eldorado?"

 _"Over the Mountains Of the Moon,_  
Down the Valley of the Shadow,   
Ride, boldly ride," The shade replied--   
"If you seek for Eldorado!"

There was no signature, nor was any needed. With another smile, Nightwing folded the note carefully and tucked it back inside his left boot pocket, where it once more rested safe from all harm.


	13. The Next Best Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sea & Sky XII: The Next Best Thing by Dannell. (Prologue by kerithwyn.)
> 
> In which certain Truths come to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPIFFY DISCLAIMER THINGIE!! Ah do not own any of these guys! DC comics does --- more's the pity:(:( Ah have only borrowed them for use in a work of non-profit fanfiction! So, no infringement of copyright is intended! Don't sue moi!:):)  
> Rated for non-explicit (undepicted, actually!) M/M sexual themes. So if'n that isn't ya'll cuppa, then best skedaddle now:):)
> 
> Blessings to my Sea And Sky co-writer rith for a great beta:):) Ya'll are the best!

**PROLOGUE**

Lazy Sunday. Nothing much to do, not even for the guardian of Blüdhaven. He did all his best work at night, anyway.

A knock at the door, oddly hesitant, and Dick Grayson went to see who it was with something like a premonition of fear.

Jean-Paul Valley stood there diffidently, so unlike the avenging angel Azrael who lay just beneath the surface. In his hand he held a softball. THE softball. His voice was quiet. "I-- I would like to see a game. Will you show me?"

And he was opening the door wider, inviting the man in, knowing he was making a mistake. Doing it *anyway* because Jean-Paul looked so needful, and because he was lonely. Because they both were.

Sitting on the sofa. Finding a game on the satellite. Getting snacks and a beer--one, just one for himself, and a bottle of water for JP because Jean-Paul didn't drink. Neither did--

Never mind. Watching the game, explaining the rules and the moves, dissing the announcer. Just two guys who weren't quite friends, watching a game.

Jean-Paul's hand shyly reaching out to touch his own.

He didn't *decide.* Deciding meant considering the action, weighing the consequences. But Jean-Paul was here and wanting and willing and it didn't really *have* to mean anything, did it?

And no one had to get hurt.

  
 **{end prologue}**

  
****

  
 **Washington D.C., the apartment of Jean-Paul Valley:**

  
  
Being very careful to come no closer than absolutely necessary, Brian Bryan handed the just-washed soup bowl, still dripping with steaming water, to Dick Grayson to dry. "How does he *do* that?" Dick wondered absently. "I'm standing right here. He's handing me dishes... so why do I feel as though I'm not really here at all? And if things get much chillier, that damned water is gonna freeze."

"You don't like me very much, do you, Brian?" he said in a casual voice.

The psychiatrist met Dick's questioning eyes squarely. "No, Mr. Grayson," he returned calmly, "I don't. You're quite right."

Dick grimaced. "At least you're honest," he said wryly.

The older man crossed his arms over his stout chest and regarded the hero with an intense, level gaze.

Dick almost smiled. "You're about ten years late with that one, buddy," he thought. "That's *nothing*... *nothing.* I learned in a harder school than yours, believe me." Still, he looked away from the other man. Without warning, he found himself staring into a well-remembered pair of dark blue eyes, sharp and cutting as the edge of a blade; and the exact color of ancient glacial ice, frozen for a long, long time. Beneath the ice and just visible around the edges, great passion burned and flamed, awaiting release.

Ice and fire...

When he realized that those weren't Jean-Paul's eyes, he thrust the memory away almost in a panic.

"Don't even go there, Grayson," he cursed himself. "Don't even go there."

But then the other pair of eyes likely to be staring back at him in his dreams and accusations were no safer, were they? Deep violet in color, they were soft and gentle full of compassion and love. Dangerous eyes. More dangerous than the others? Perhaps. He saw them sad and full of pain... And Dick had been so sure that he could not give them what they desired. He saw them full of burning anger, flashing purple fire. And he wasn't sure which frightened him more; the anger... or the love.

He found Brian studying him with an almost-clinical detachment when he turned back to the older man. The psychiatrist cocked his head to the side and lifted one shaggy eyebrow.

"And why shouldn't I be honest with you, Mr. Grayson?" he inquired softly. "Why shouldn't I tell you that I think what you're doing is reprehensible, damaging?"

Dick paled for an instant at the accusation and then flushed crimson with anger. "Jealous?"

"Absolutely, Mr. Grayson, " replied Brian, drying his hands on a dishtowel. Startled, Dick frowned. Brian set the towel aside and faced his adversary.

"You have something I'd give anything to possess," he said, "and haven't a chance in Hades of ever obtaining. Look at me, Mr. Grayson. I'm a forty-two years old, balding, ex-drunkard with falling arches and twenty pounds too much weight. My desire for Jean-Paul is plain. Everyone in the world can see it. Everyone but *him.* A day late and a dollar short, as they say. You, on the other hand... well, the differences are obvious, aren't they? You're one of the most beautiful human beings it has ever been my pleasure to lust after from afar. But what you *really* are isn't obvious at all, is it?" Dick's eyes widened and Brian didn't miss that telling sign that his words had struck home.

"And the truly tragic thing, Richard John Grayson, is that now that you have him...you don't really want Jean-Paul Valley at all, do you? No, you don't. *He's* not the object of your desire." The stout man snapped off the whistling tea kettle bubbling on the kitchen's electric stove.

"One day I really should meet the Batman," he mused. "He must be an...extraordinary...man." Turning, Brian poured hot tea into two waiting cups, filling the air of the small kitchen with the sweet, soothing fragrance of strong-blended Darjeering tea, then reached for the sugar bowl.

"One lump or two?" the student of Sigmund Freud and Karl Jung inquired patiently.

"Damn you--!"

"Damn me to what, young man? Hell?" Brian smiled. "Been there. Done that. I didn't much care for the accommodations, so I left. The walls need paint. The liquor was nice, though."

"What gives you the right to screw around with my head, Brian?" Dick demanded.

The psychiatrist added two lumps of sugar to one steaming cup and stirred slowly. "Why, nothing, Mr. Grayson," he acknowledged. "Nothing at all. And I don't. It seems to me you have that thankless job quite well in hand yourself. You're running away from something and someone who frightens you deeply. And not just the Batman. There's someone else too, isn't there? I don't know who it might be, but you're running away from whoever *that* is as well. And you've run straight into the arms of someone guaranteed to punish you for it." Sipping, he made a wry face. "Too much sugar," he lamented and added a spot more tea.

Dick's blue eyes narrowed in warning. "You're really good at playing games, aren't you, Brian? Well, I'm no slouch, either, pal. Be careful."

"No," Brian replied, "as a matter of fact, I'm very bad at playing games, my young friend. That's why I retreated into a bottle of Scotch. Much simpler. And safer. But, then, I was never as good at lying to myself as you apparently are." Brian turned away from the younger, larger man but angry hands pulled him back.

"I'm not a liar!" Dick shouted, offended.

Flushed, Brian pulled himself angrily away from the younger man and stared at him. With a towel he began to wipe the wet tea stains from the white cotton of his shirt. He picked up the broken cup and carefully placed it in the kitchen garbage can. When he again turned to face his roommate's young lover he was scowling.

"I usually charge about $250 an hour to be lied to and abused by my patients, Mr. Grayson," he said crisply, "but you've caught me in a generous mood, so I'm going to talk to you for free."

"And just what do you have to tell me that you think I need to hear, Brian?" Dick snapped.

"The truth," said Brian.

"And that would be...?"

"How many lovers have you had in recent days, Mr. Grayson?" Brian inquired, his voice deadly calm. "How many beds have you popped in and out of in the last few years, I wonder?" Dick looked extremely uncomfortable, but Brian was relentless. "Did you ever wonder *why* you can't seem to settle down?"

"Do you think I *like* being like this?!" Dick cried. "I can't-- I just-- I just haven't found the right person, that's all," he defended himself stoutly.

Brian shook his thinning head, still unwilling to back down. "Not true," he corrected the agitated youth, "you've found 'the right person,' all right. A long time ago. You just can't have him, that's the problem. You know *exactly* who you want and *exactly* what you want from him. Unless I'm mistaken, you've known that since your early teens. Probably before you were even old enough to have wet dreams about him, am I right? He was the first lover you ever really wanted, unless I miss my guess. And he's such forbidden fruit it frightened you so badly that deep down you think all love is forbidden and dangerous. So you keep running away from it. But you keep ending up in all the wrong beds. All that guilt. Are you certain you're not Catholic, young man?"

"I-- I don't-- " began a startled Dick, but Brian cut him short.

"Now he's going to say he doesn't know what I mean," Brian mused aloud. The psychiatrist made a disgusted sound low in his throat. "He's going to tell me that I'm wrong; that I'm a sick pervert for even thinking such a thing." His thin lips curled back in anger.

"Sick pervert?" Brian shook his head. "No, Dick," he said, almost sadly, "that's *you.* I'm not the one who wants to sleep with his father."

Dick Grayson's fist shot out and Brian Bryan found himself suddenly sailing across the small kitchen like a kite in a high wind. He told himself that he wasn't going to cry out. That he wouldn't give the younger man the satisfaction. But despite himself, he did. When he hit the far wall with a meaty thunk and slid bonelessly down the wall, sprawling onto his buttocks, he *tried* to cry out. He did. But he couldn't seem to breathe properly. Quicker than it took to tell it, he felt Dick's gentle, experienced hands leaning his dizzy head between his knees. It helped.

"I'm sorry," Dick said, "I didn't mean to... You-- shouldn't have said that... "

Brian pressed the handkerchief that Dick gave him to his nose, which was still streaming dark blood. "No, I shouldn't have," he admitted. In his own ears his voice sounded tinny and shrill. He winced inwardly at the weak sound of it. He sighed, closed his eyes, and hoped reverently that he wasn't trembling as badly as he thought.

"Sweet Jesus," he mourned in silent despair, "why do we have to grow old? Must age be so demeaning and humiliating? Curse you, Rabbi Ben Ezra. 'Grow old along with me,' indeed!"

"Brian?" Dick's voice was small and forlorn. "Were you just trying to hurt me or did you..." He let the words just lay there, unable or unwilling to finish them.

Brian looked up to see the other man breathing hard, in quick gulps as if he were the one who'd been struck. He wiped the last of the blood from his nose, grimacing in pain at the light touch. Carefully, he set the bloody handkerchief aside.

"Oh, I meant to hurt you, all right," he said. "No mistake there. And for that I'm truly sorry. It was petty and unnecessary."

"But? I distinctly heard a but at the end of that sentence."

"But," supplied Brian, "that doesn't make it any the less true, I'm afraid." The larger man looked so stricken and lost that Brian was forced to look away to catch his breath.

"Pain is instructive," he reminded himself, harshly. But how to soften the blow? How to make him *listen*?

"We Irish are famous liars, Dick, my young friend," he said softly. "Remember when I said that I didn't like you? Well, I lied. I *do* like you, Dick Grayson. Damn me if I don't." Dick's wan smile was a good sign, he told himself.

"He isn't actually your father, is he?" Not really a question, but Dick answered it with a quick shake of his dark head in any case.

"I thought not. Which only makes it worse, in a way."

Brian rose and Dick helped him to his feet, then to the kitchen table. The youth puttered about the stove, but finally managed to pour more hot tea into a waiting cup and handed it to Brian. The warmth felt good in his shaking hands. He sipped in grateful silence, enjoying the delicate flavor of the hot Darjeering tea against his tongue. Brian Bryan had discovered some years ago that, when it came to certain things, he was a patient man. A very patient man. He waited.

"All my life," Dick whispered. "All my life he's been the center of my world. I almost can't remember my real parents, anymore. I can't see their faces clearly the way I used to. I feel guilty about that sometimes." He lowered his head in shame. "Christ, I don't know how it happened. I just woke up one day and *knew* he was the one I wanted to be with. Can something like that really happen, I wonder? I-- I thought I was crazy. But it wouldn't go away. Still hasn't. From the time I was old enough to know that you could do more with a penis than pee with it... Bruce was there."

"And he never...responded?" asked Brian with care.

Dick smiled, a mere twitching of his full lips. "Not even once. If he *had*... Well, I'm not THAT strong."

"Which is why he probably never did," Brian thought. Cautiously, he lay a gentle hand on Dick's shoulder and hoped that he was doing the right thing. As the self-confessed 'world's worst psychiatrist,' if he were wrong.... But no; he wasn't wrong about this. He knew it in his bones. He squeezed Grayson's shoulder.

"Listen to me, Dick," he said and the young man looked at him levelly. "What you're looking for isn't here. Jean-Paul *isn't* Bruce."

"I know that," Dick said.

Brian shook his head in negation. "No, you don't," he declared in a voice gone quiet with compassion. He tapped Dick lightly, squarely in the middle of the forehead. "You know it in *here,*" the older man said. "But not *here.*" And he tapped Dick over the heart. Dick paled and hung his head in silence. Brian began to worry about that silence. Dick was not usually so reticent and the quiet desperation in those deep blue eyes seemed to grow even as he watched. What to say? What to do?

In the end he was left with only the cruel truth to offer. And he feared that it was not nearly enough. Not by half.

"I imagine it was easy to convince yourself that you were in love with him. In so many, many ways, he's perfect for you, isn't he? Physically, Jean-Paul Valley is a lot like Bruce Wayne; he's tall and broad shouldered with long legs and a great deal of physical presence. He's almost like a photo negative of the man. Like looking into a mirror... brightly. He's driven and intense and that appeals to you. But he smiles and laughs and he isn't afraid to touch you or to show you his feelings. He's everything that you wish Bruce Wayne *could* be, but isn't. And it doesn't even end there, does it? No, it doesn't. You really are in love with someone else. And it isn't Jean-Paul. You screwed up this time, Dick. You fell in love with someone who fell in love with you instead of choosing someone safe...someone who couldn't or wouldn't fall in love with you. And the fear and the guilt are eating you alive." The stout middle-aged psychiatrist closed his eyes and told himself sternly that he would not weep. He would not.

"And, God help us all," he murmured, "Jean-Paul does loves you. And you don't think Bruce Wayne does. But you don't want to be in love with whoever you're running from, do you?" The boy winced at that and Brian gave him a moment to think that over.

Dick Grayson could feel slender, deft hands ghosting their way over his body; his nostrils filled with the scent of the salt sea and his mouth with the tang of its sharp flavor. But it was the eyes, those cursed purple eyes that grabbed him, that haunted him and would not let him go. He struggled until his body began to shake and tremble.

He opened his mouth and his lips formed the words, "... help me... " but nothing emerged. And he did not think it was Jean-Paul Valley with whom he pleaded. No. Not Jean-Paul. In the end there was only Brian's voice to succor him.

"But Azrael... " Brian's lips thinned into bitter, angry lines. "Azrael is something else entirely, isn't he? He's all the darkness that lives within Bruce Wayne; all the rage and the fear and the pain. All the passion that lies at the heart of his coldness. But Azrael dwells separately enough from Jean-Paul that you don't *think* you have to deal with him unless you wish."

Dick's face clouded over. "I don't *like* Azrael," he maintained with stout force, a bit too loudly.

"Oh yes, you do," Brian thought, but held his tongue. "Or a least a part of you does. The part of you that enjoys risking your life daily, that revels in the excitement of danger. The part that needs that adrenaline surge to pump the blood and kick start the heart to make you feel truly alive. I wonder if you realize just how hot the fire you're toying with is?"

Aloud, he said, "Dick, Azrael is dangerous. Listen to what I say very carefully, now. I've studied him for two years and I *know.* The St. Dumas fools who created Azrael called him the Angel Of Vengeance.... but he's not an angel, at all. He's a demon; a demon who lives inside Jean-Paul Valley. And make no mistake, Dick, my young friend, he *is* a part of Jean-Paul. Nomoz and his ilk did their job well. Azrael destroys things. Things and people. It's what he was made for. If you let him he'll destroy *you.*"

"Or you'll destroy *him*," Brian thought.

The sharpness of his thoughts was interrupted by the shrill cry of his ringing cell phone. The tension in the air was so thick it was almost palpable and the noise made Bryan jump.

"Yes?" he demanded into the phone, harsher then he'd meant to.

"Brian?" came the cultured English voice of Doctor John Nevins, M.D, creeping into his ear like an unwanted invader, "It's Sarah Bulchowski. Silly twit's tried to oft herself again. She's back in the cracker ward at General. You'd better come."

Damn!

"Can't you handle it, John? I'm... busy just now."

"Bry, I'm just a cutter, I sew them up, that's *all.* *You* put them back together again. She's your patient. Now kick the tart to the curb and get your bloody arse down here, old friend." The line went dead and Brian looked up wearily.

"Dick, I'm sorry, I have to--"

But Dick Grayson was gone. Silent as a whisper the young hero had disappeared. And the door to the bedroom was closed firmly, like a castle moat with the drawbridge pulled up.

On his way out the door Brian hesitated. Every instinct he had was screaming at him not to leave. Not now. But...

Sarah Bulchowski was his patient. She needed him. He put his hand on the door knob, glancing one last time at the bedroom door, biting his lip hard.

"Please God," he prayed as he stepped through the doorway into the corridor, "don't let Jean-Paul come home before I can get back. Please."

 

****************

 

In a rush, Jean-Paul Valley bounded up the stairs to the large apartment and the man waiting for him there, humming softly under his breath. Flinging open the door, he thrust himself excitedly inside, his eyes searching joyously for the recent center of his world.

"Dick!" he cried, "Dick, mon cher! You are speaking to an employed person! Systems Design Consultant for Intel Industries!" With a flourish, he produced an official-looking document on heavy white letterhead paper. "Voila! I begin within the week!" When there came no immediate answer to his outcry, the youth looked around. "Dick, mon coeur?"

"In here, JP... "

Ignoring the sadness his sharp ears told him resided in that hesitant voice, the young French hero leapt into the bedroom, brandishing his paper before him like a knightly banner streaming in the winds of victory.

Dick Grayson shut his eyes tightly against the sight of that sun-bright smile; those clear sapphire blue eyes gone wide with wonder. His hands ached to cover his ears against the music in that softly accented voice, but he forced himself to keep them firmly at his side.

And then Jean-Paul's eyes fell on the neatly packed duffel bag sitting on the bed beside his lover and Dick's stomach lurched to see the fear growing there like a noxious weed in a garden. Jean-Paul's eyes met Dick's and locked. Dick watched the muscles of the young Frenchman's face tighten and his broad shoulders tensed.

"Where are you going?" Valley inquired softly. Dick could not bring himself to meet those eyes. Not for the life of him could he meet those eyes. He studied the intricate weave of the carpet at his feet and cursed himself.

"JP," he began, "I-- " But he got no further. Hands at his sides curling into fists, Jean-Paul Valley stepped quickly to the bedside where Dick sat.

"When-- when will you be back, little cricket?" he asked in a voice that reeked of despair. Dick winced at the sound of Jean-Paul's favorite nickname for him.

"Don't look at his eyes," Dick told himself, "for God's sake don't look at his eyes. You'll never leave if you look at those eyes. This is for the best. For both of you." But despite his best intentions, he lost himself in those azure depths. The confusion and dread he found there stabbed at him viciously. But something else dwelt there as well. Something hard and sharp like the rocks waiting, lurking, at the bottom of a tall cliff.

Was Brian right, he wondered? Was he running away again? Then where would he run this time? Who was left? When he was 16 and most frightened he'd run to Babs and then the Titans; hiding from himself... and Bruce. And there he had met Garth for the first time. Garth. He of the violet eyes and gentle spirit. Garth of the beautiful hands and almost-palpable loneliness. And the other Titans, too. He'd fled into their friendship, forming bonds that had lasted even 'til now.... Fled into Kory eventually. Koriand'r, whose love cradled him but in the end frightened him away at the first real travail. How many beds had he fled to or from? Did it even matter any more? For here was the end result. This man. Jean-Paul Valley. His current sanctuary. Where he had fled from Garth.

"JP," he gulped, "I'm not coming back. I have to go. It's better this-- "

"You are leaving?"

Dick's head snapped up and his eyes widened.

"Christ Jesus," he thought, dazed by the speed of the thing. "Even his *voice* is different; lower, deeper... *harder*... "

"Why would you want to leave?" demanded Azrael, the Avenging Angel.

Dick had never seen it happen quite like this before. Azrael had fought by his side only once in the few short weeks they had been together and his mask covered all of his face, of course. But now there was no concealing cloth to shield him from the sight of Azrael's arrival. Jean-Paul Valley, who loved him, was gone. Now there was only Azrael. He seemed taller than Jean-Paul. He stood straighter and his body shouted tension like a tightly coiled spring. And... and...

"He wears his face differently," Dick thought, absurdly. Gone were the rounded curves and gentle sloping plains of Jean-Paul Valley's face; replaced by the sharp angles and shadowed crevices of a harsher, tauter face. The face of Azrael. And the *eyes*... Dear God, the eyes...

"He deserves better from you," said Azrael.

"Yes, he does. That's why I have to leave. You understand that, don't you?" For a moment there was silence. When it was broken it was shattered completely.

"I understand many things, Dick Grayson," said the voice of Azrael, so different from Jean-Paul Valley's melodic baritone. "More than you know. I understand that he loves you. And I understand that you have used him terribly. Used *me* terribly." Dick did not deny it. When Azrael reached for him he didn't move; he simply sat there and waited.

"It's not Jean-Paul," he tried vainly to convince himself, "it's not Jean-Paul... If you hurt him you won't be hurting JP, you won't, you won't...." But he did not believe it. And besides, he was--

"Guilty," Azrael said, "you are guilty. And the guilty must be punished." Dick struggled to get away, then, but it was too late. Azrael was too strong. As he had always known he would be.

The world exploded in pain and he went flying across the small room like a feather on a howling storm wind. His head crashed into the legs of the writing desk in the corner of the room and he couldn't seem to breathe. Futilely, he tried to rise, pulling himself to his feet using the desk as a clumsy lever. Swift as striking lightning, he felt himself jerked to his feet. The face of Azrael was a double-edged blur, swimming before him like an ocean current. He thought of Garth's peaceful violet eyes glowing with anger at their parting and cried out. Azrael shook him like a rag doll and let him fall to the floor.

When he looked up again his vision was crystal-clear and he found himself staring into great blue eyes gone wide with horror. "Oh, God," he thought. "Just look at this mess! Look at what I've done to him! And done to myself! I left Garth because I didn't want to hurt him. Or myself. Because I was afraid. Because I didn't want any more harm to come to anyone. Or so I told myself. And I've done more harm here than I could ever have done elsewhere. Oh God!"

"D-Dick?" It was Jean-Paul's voice that ushered him gently back to reality.

"Azrael, you coward," Dick thought, "why do you always leave JP to clean up your mess? Come back here, damn you. God, JP, I'm sorry... so sorry..."

"Pardonne moi!" Jean-Paul whispered and covered his face with his hands. But it was Azrael who reached out to jerk Dick to his feet.

Dick groaned and sat up, coughing bright red blood. He didn't even consider running away; not for an instant. Whatever else Azrael was minded to do to him he deserved. But, strangely, Azrael offered him no more violence, lifted not so much as a finger in his direction. When the blond man lay hands on him he was gentle, almost tender. Cupping Dick's chin in one hand, the tall man stared down into Dick's dark blue eyes. Then he kissed him chastely on the forehead.

"You have a strong sting, little cricket," he said. "I should have remembered that."

Dick closed his eyes, trying not to think about how often Azrael might have done this. How many times had he killed? He drew in a quick breath as he felt himself pulled forward into almost impossibly strong arms. Resigned, he gazed up into smoldering blue eyes. He could feel the renewed trip hammer beat of his heart, sense the blood blazing through his veins.

"Sting me anytime you like," Azrael's rough voice urged. He entangled his long fingers in the hair at the nape of Dick's neck and pulled back, harshly. "Jean-Paul isn't the only one you desired, is he? You want me," he rasped. "I know you do. I can see it your eyes, smell it on your skin." The kiss was bruising, punishing, but Dick didn't struggle. Azrael's mouth still tasted faintly of blood. For a moment the Avenging Angel looked almost unsure.

"I've never seduced anyone before," he hissed, chest heaving. "I don't know how." His nostrils widened and he drew in a great shuddering breath. Slowly, he expelled it again. "Just don't make me wait too long," he advised, narrow eyed. "You won't like it if you do." He closed his eyes, almost as if in prayer, and his fingers slowly loosened and released Dick.

When Jean-Paul Valley opened his eyes again Dick was gone. He had left on such silent, noiseless cat feet that the young Frenchman never even heard the door shut behind him. Bursting into tears, he sank slowly to the floor grasping his knees for comfort, rocking back and forth, murmuring, "Pardonne moi! Oh, pardonne moi!"

And that was how a horrified Brian Bryan found Jean-Paul Valley, hours later; covered in blood, scrubbing futilely at the still-bright stains on their carpet, until his slender killing hands were raw and bloody, mingling his blood with Nightwing's; begging forgiveness from someone no longer there to grant it.

"Pardonne moi!" he wept. "Ah, Dieu! Pardonne moi!"

****************

"Op--operator?"

It was an old-fashioned telephone booth; one of the enclosed kind with the sliding door for privacy. God only knew how old it was. Dick fumbled again in his pockets for money, wiping the blood from his eyes. Clark would love it, Dick thought crazily. Christ, if he could just *think*... But his every breath brought him pain and despair. His chest was on fire.

"How may I help you, Sir?"

"I need... I need to make a call. I'm afraid I don't have any change. Please... could you make the call for me? I-- have to talk to somebody-- I ... " His voice trailed off weakly and he coughed violently. More blood. He gripped the cold metal of the phone for support.

"Sir?" came the cautious voice. "Sir? Are you all right?"

"Please," he whispered, "the call..."

"I'm not supposed to," the hesitant voice returned. "I could lose my job... " Dick closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool glass sides of the booth.

"Ple- please..."

"Sir? Are you sure you're all right? Maybe I should call a doctor or--"

"Gotham-555-8780."

The phone rang almost ten times before it was answered.

"Hello." The world spun topsy turvy, but Dick was flooded with relief at the sound of the deep, familiar voice.

"B-Bruce?"

"Dick! Where are you? Dick?"

"... help me... "

The phone slipped from now nerveless fingers and the last thing Dick Grayson heard before the darkness claimed him was the sound of deep, abiding fear in the voice on the other end of the line.

So much fear....


	14. Fever Dreams/"And Then I Woke Up"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sea & Sky XIII: Fever Dreams/"And Then I Woke Up" by Dannell and kerithwyn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to: Clara, my favorite EMT, for making sure I didn’t screw this up. To Alestar for encouragement. To Dannell for patience. To Carmen just for being her, and also my Muse. To Phil Jimenez for Tempest and to Chuck Dixon for reminding me how much I liked Nightwing. And most especially to Kael for fabulously detailed and helpful beta.

### Fever Dreams

 

Much later, it laid out in a clear chain of events. Bruce, hearing my voice and the pain in it, traced the call. He learned I was in D.C., called the nearest hospital for an ambulance, and came down from Gotham like an avenging...Bat. I'm told the cops and paramedics had a hard time getting me into the ambulance; even half-conscious, my defenses were on automatic. They brought me in nonetheless, one cop with a broken nose and one of the parameds nursing a badly wrenched arm, and advised the ER physicians at Georgetown University Medical Center to strap me down. Which they did.

Good thing I was fully unconscious by then.

I don't remember a lot. The doctors pumped me full of drugs--*after* they'd made sure I wasn't already strung out on something, an assumption I can't blame them for--and started fixing me up.

When I woke the first time it was to incredible pounding in my brain and a case of dry mouth from the O2 that went all the way down into my chest. Nasty. I could barely speak and what I *did* manage to say didn’t make any sense. I had a nice moment or two of panic before the doctor came in and reassured me that the disorientation was temporary, I just needed to rest. One hell of a concussion, various lacerations, cracked ribs and the accompanying bruising--"You were very lucky not to rupture anything, Mr. Grayson." Lucky. Right. I felt like I’d been dragged across that proverbial hundred miles of rough road.

They’d found my insurance card and "in case of emergency contact" numbers. Bruce, of course, who was already on his way down; and Barbara.

I can't even imagine what she must have gone through. The nurse tells me she was on the phone nearly constantly until they were able to tell her I'd be all right. Then she called only slightly less frequently. I'm sure the nurse wondered why my girlfriend--had to be that, so concerned!--didn't come to see me. I understood why; between the aftermath of NML, the JLA crisis of the week, and Sarah Essen-Gordon's death at the hand of the Joker, she'd already been overwhelmed. Oh, Babs, I'm so sorry.

The next time I woke, the first thing I saw was a pair of relieved blue eyes. The look in them hit me hard, just like it always did when Bruce let down his masks and let me see--

"Dick," he said. Just my name, like he'd been waiting for me to wake to hear it.

He probably had.

For all his growing coldness over the years, all the pain between us, I never doubted that he cared. It was everything *else* between us that was the problem. Things I couldn't say. Things he couldn't express.

I fought for focus against the cotton in my head. There was too much right now, too close to the surface, and I didn't want to *deal* with him. Not after what I'd been through. What Brian had said. But he was here, and I had to try. "H--."

My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and without a word he handed me a glass of water. He’d been injured enough times to know what I needed. He stood patiently and gave me a couple of minutes to clear my brain, pushing past the pain for clarity. Tibetan mind tricks, like I’d told Gar. I cleared my throat and started again. "H-hi. Boy, am I glad you got my call--"

"Yes." A pause. "You'll be all right, Dick." Reassuring himself as much as me.

"Yeah." I swallowed again and tried for levity. "See, and everyone thinks hard-headedness is a fault.... Anyway, Bruce, thanks."

There was a lot of intensity behind his eyes. I couldn't quite read whatever was going on there. Relief, and...? "We should move you to Leslie's clinic or even the house; Alfred can--"

In the mansion? With Bruce. Not a good idea, considering. "No, I'm all right here. It'll help--see, I got mugged, and...."

He nodded, tight-lipped, stopping my words. "Of course."

My cover story might fool the rest of the world, but never him. Even the pretense of his acceptance was an acknowledgement all by itself. "Aw, I'll be okay. Nice vacation, pretty nurses fussing over me, no--"

"And your 'mugger'?"

Flat tone. Almost Bat-voice. Of *course* he'd already suspect who'd done this, D.C. was Azrael's town. And the last time he'd seen us together, Nightwing and Azrael had barely been civil toward each other. God, what a mess.

I *couldn't* let this happen. He'd go and...punish...Jean-Paul for Azrael's "crime," and I couldn't allow that. Especially since it'd all been my fault to begin with.

Oh, lord, I can't even think about what I've done to him. Azrael will be all right. But JP...God, I hope Brian can help him. And the only way he'd be able to is if Bruce *stayed away.*

"Please, Bruce--let it go." It took all my strength to meet his eyes and say firmly, "Forget about it. Don't pursue this. I'm telling--" no, better rephrase that! "...I'm *asking* you not to."

His eyes narrowed. "Why are you protecting--the person who did this?"

"Maybe I wasn't the only one who got hurt." More than the truth, there. I could only hope he'd believe that.

His gaze faltered and he turned away, just a bit, and I started to wonder what he really knew. I would've been mortally embarrassed if I hadn't been so worried and flat-out exhausted. After a moment he blew out a breath and said, "Fine."

"Promise?"

*That* was a mistake. He turned back and gave me a *look.* "Yes." After a moment he went on, "Tim is watching Blüdhaven. And if I'm not--needed here, I have to get back to Gotham."

Pride, so much pride. Both of us. "I'm sorry, Bruce."

He nodded sharply and let that concern show again. "All right. I--hope to see you on your feet again soon." He hesitated, just briefly, and went out.

For possibly the first time in my life, I was glad he hadn't tried to touch me.

  
***

  
Later that afternoon....

The door opened, and Garth came in.

He was wearing, I noted fuzzily, a suit. A very *good* suit. It looked strange and absolutely wonderful. Really set off his shoulders. Oh, God.

I tried to fight my way into a sitting position, felt a wave of dizziness hit, and then Garth's hand was behind me, adjusting the pillow, helping me up. "T-thanks." God. What could I *say?* I wasn't ready--

"Are you all right?" Garth's voice, low, concerned, but not-- It was the concern of a friend, a teammate. Then, with something more: "I was in the city. Barbara called me."

That made sense. Considering what Babs knew...oh, yeah, that was just about right. Sending Garth was her way of telling me, again, that I'd been an idiot.

I wasn't inclined to argue.

I steeled myself and looked up into purple eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Garth went still; his eyes carefully reflecting nothing. Or maybe there was just too much for even a look to express. He let out a breath, took another, and said gently, "Rest. Heal. This--isn't the time, or place."

"But..."

"Not now. When you're well." Garth hesitated, then nodded. There was something very resolute in his face. "We *will* talk."

No way to know what that meant, except that maybe I had a chance to salvage something after all. If Garth could forgive. I'd have to explain about Jean-Paul. And about why I ran in the first place. Nothing short of brutal honesty would do and Garth was probably right; there was no way I was up to that now. Even if I knew what to say. "Please. There's so much--"

"There is. But not now." Garth's hands held so tight to his sides, not reaching out. "I--I saw Bruce."

"Yeah, I know, I saw him this morning--"

Garth gave me a *look* that made me stop talking. It was a day for it, I guess. "He was here for days, actually. I overheard the nurse. They had to call Security to keep him out of the ICU."

I didn't want to talk about this. "Well, he knows I'm okay, he's gone back to Gotham." Ohhh. I had to wonder-- "Did he--say anything to you? About anything?"

He paused, then said, "Not in so many-- No." He shook his head, dismissing whatever he was going to say next. If I hadn't been so groggy maybe I could have figured it out. "I should go. The nurse was very firm about letting you rest. I'll tell Donna and the others you're mending."

He turned and left, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Unpleasant company, at best.

  
***

  
Let me tell you, lying around the hospital may *suck,* but it's great at provoking introspection. Whether you want it or not. And considering how *little* I'd been thinking about what I'd been doing lately, the enforced inactivity was probably a good thing. Long past time to take stock of where I'd been...and where I was going.

Dick Grayson, this is your life.

In the earliest days being Robin was just pure fun. We made a hell of a team, Bruce and I. He with his dark knight image--only an image then, not the reality it is now--and me spouting those awful puns. It seemed the only thing to do against the villains we fought; strange insane creatures who were more pitiful than terrifying, back then. Now there's no laughing at Two-Face, Poison Ivy, the Scarecrow, the Joker. Especially not the Joker.

Somewhere along the line things changed, evolved, as the villains got scarier and so did Bruce. I don't think he changed so much as *emerged,* the hard dark side of him becoming more apparent every day. It was his response to the changing face of Gotham and to the changing faces of those enemies. *My* response mirrored his; it had to. One too many times of being "Robin the Boy Hostage" drove home how serious our jobs had gotten. Deadly serious. So by the time the Titans reformed I had the mask down pat. See, analyze, act. I ended up the leader by virtue of that training, and felt even more that it was the leader's job to stay aloof, stay detached.

Koriand'r changed all that.

We laughed about it a lot, later; the way she chose to learn English. Here was this alien woman, gorgeous, unlike anyone I'd ever seen before, and she was kissing me. Passionately. I'd have to have been *dead* not to respond to that. She woke something up in me, maybe some of that Romany-gypsy-circus brat wildness I'd been suppressing to be a better partner for the Batman. I started to find my own way with her help, once I accepted that I *could* love her--and that was a battle, all right. But finally I did, and we were together, the Titans were working as a team better than ever, and I was still a good partner for Bruce despite a wider gap between us. Even with that, it was good.

Until Kory's sister Komand'r started a civil war on Tamaran, and she and I and Joey went to help sort it out. Turned out the only solution involved Kory's peace-treaty marriage to Karras, a representative of the fractious southern colonies. So Koriand'r, as a good princess of her people, agreed to marry him. And she did.

I don't blame her for it. I *don't.* Her love for me versus the survival of her entire *planet,* and I didn't even have the right to ask her to choose. I hated it, she hated it, and it was all necessary. Part and parcel of being a hero, right? Do what you have to, no matter the cost. Or how much it hurts.

So Joey and I came back from Tamaran, and I was a wreck. The woman I thought I'd love forever was gone, I believed I'd never see her again, and it was really only Joey who kept me anywhere near sane. It sounds strange now, that I went right from her bed to his, but God, I needed him. His empathy, his gentleness and understanding, it was just about all that kept me together.

Joe Wilson was--special. The circumstances were terrible but for a few weeks he became the center of my world. It wasn't just some rebound-reaction to losing Kory, either. I fell for him hard, and I have to believe he felt the same way. Or maybe Joey's heart was big enough to hold me along with everyone else; he was like that. He accepted everything I was and never asked a thing in return.

I was more at ease with him than I'd ever been with anybody. No pressure, no expectation, just love. I'd never...felt that.

In the end, much later, it was that very empathy that caused his death--but I don't like to think about that. I want to remember his kindness and the warmth of his hands on me, a talisman against the dark.

But back then, just as I was learning to appreciate Joey for all that he was, the most unbelievable thing happened.

She came back.

Her marriage, she said, was only a matter of state; and she still loved me, and had chosen Earth rather than a royal life on Tamaran to be with me. I...believed her. I didn't have any choice. Even though I suspect now that wasn't entirely true, I'll never ask. It was all this sidestep rationalization: I couldn't be with her if she were married, so she couldn't be. Not by Earth standards, not for real.

I was torn. I loved her and loved him, and I couldn't bear to choose. Joey made it easy; he kissed me and said, graceful hands moving like water, that he knew I still loved Kory and he couldn't bear to see me so upset, not over this. Over loving both of them. Kory wouldn't have had a problem with that. Tamaranean morality's a lot different than Earth's. And Joey never had a jealous bone in his body. But me, I just *couldn't.* That's me, stupid Dick Grayson, head firmly stuck in the one-faithful-lover mindset. So Joey said that he understood, and he chose to step back, and he said he'd always be there if I needed him.

Oh, God, I wish that had been true!

For a little while it was almost like old times again with Kory, except it wasn't. It turned out something had broken between us I didn't know how to fix. I figured it was just all we'd been through--her on Tamaran, my brainwashing at the hands of Brother Blood--and I tried to hold on because that's what I was *supposed* to do. The right thing, the honorable thing. I think I was trying to prove I wasn't Bruce by doing what he never had. Maybe he never wanted to try. Maybe he never found the right--

By the time I proposed to her things had reached the breaking point. The whole horrible end to the Wildebeest nightmare and Joey's death destroyed the team. The Titans were falling apart, Bruce had withdrawn almost completely into the mask of the Bat, and I was desperate to hold on to something of the old days, better days. Not that I didn't still love Kory as a friend and something more, but the passion had gone out of it. I can't help but think now that awful as it was, it was probably for the best the wedding was interrupted…even though at the time it was just another blow, maybe the worst. Joey was dead, Kory was gone, and while all that was going on Bruce had been broken by Bane. I never even knew until it was too late and after that he refused to let any of us help him. Untouchable.

And after that....

It went from bad to horrible. I wasn't even with the Titans anymore and I’d become totally disconnected from everyone I cared about. It took a long time to fight my way back from that; it took a wretched city that needed me, and a couple of crises where Bruce needed me, and then finally a team that...well, I don't know if the Titans really needed me, but Wally was probably right when he said I needed *them.*

Ha. No "probably" about it. Rejoining the Titans felt like the healthiest thing I'd done in a long while. Even making the 'Haven my home felt like--

Felt like running away.

That's the whole point. It feels like all my life I've been running from something. Away from Bruce to the Titans, and to Kory. Even to Joey when I thought I'd lost her, then after I really *did* to Emily and Miggie and even Helena. Blüdhaven got me away from all of them. But I couldn't resist when the Titans reformed, and Garth....

Garth felt like a place to stop running. And that scared me more than anything else.

Which is totally *stupid!* But aside from Kory--and briefly, Joe--every time I've fallen into a relationship it's been awful. Destructive. And there I went again, doing the exact *same* thing with Jean-Paul. And all because I was afraid--

Of what? Being happy? That's just...twisted.

Unbidden, unwanted, the thin, ascetic voice of Brian Bryan echoed through my mind.

"You fell in love with someone who fell in love with you instead of choosing someone safe...someone who couldn't or wouldn't fall in love with you. And the fear and the guilt are eating you alive."

Funny. All my life I've been trying not to turn into Bruce. The last thing I ever wanted to learn from him was how to shut people out the way he shut me out. Oh, Christ...just *look* at what I've done.

The only question now is, what I was going to do about it.

I could keep running. I could run back to Blüdhaven, quit the Titans, and let myself turn into Batman Jr.--isn't that the *exact* warning Babs had been trying to pound into my thick skull!

Or I could take a chance, maybe my last chance, and try to hold on to something better. If I dared.

God, what irony. Garth dared so much in reaching out to me, letting himself be that vulnerable again. Even after all this time that couldn't have been any kind of easy, not with the way he'd lost Tula and never thought to have anyone like that in his life again. And he told *me*--

Our first night together, he said, "You're the bravest man I know, Dick. You're not afraid of anything." That blinding smile; like a candle in the darkness. "And you lend me part of your courage. You always have."

Yeah. Irony. I did such a good job of lying to myself--Brian was right *again,* damn him--that I fooled everyone else. Garth, I'm not brave at all. I *am* afraid. I'm frightened to death of you.

I'm frightened of reaching out; of asking you to forgive me. Do I even have the *right* to ask? Maybe not. But--

But I'm going to ask anyway.

Please, Garth...lend me some of *your* strength now.

Please.

  
***

  
The next thing I knew it was the middle of the night and I couldn't breathe and there were alarms everywhere, must be something wrong oh wait that's *me* with the oxygen mask and the world swimming as the nurse told me to breathe just breathe from the mask and relax--

  
***

  
Nothing like a couple of concussion-driven nightmares to liven up your week. I was having flashbacks, hallucinations. I remember obsessing about my hands.

I have the world's ugliest hands. Really. I do. Trust me on this. I was barely four years old when I first began learning to use those hands to grasp an aerial bar and fly. I have large, blunt hands with short fingers. And calluses that rise like mountains from the plains of my palms. My hands are strong like vises and sure, capable of many, many things. Good, reliable hands. But they are not beautiful.

Joey's hands were lovely.

I could so easily picture those hands, long and slender. I could feel them whispering over my body, ghosting down my flesh, leaving passion and desire like a warm summer breeze in their loving wake.

The first time I ever made love to Joey, I hid my hands in shame. Joey coaxed them patiently, tenderly, from out of their hiding place in my armpits and stroked each finger, kissed each callus as if it were a reward for a job well done.

"Beautiful," he insisted.

Speechless, I flinched and shook my head to deny it. He framed my face briefly with those beautiful speaking hands, so different from my own blunt rough-hewn ones. His sea-green eyes shone like brilliant stars in the night sky. I remember shivering.

"Yes," he said again. "Beautiful. They're beautiful because *you* are beautiful. And they are a part of you."

And he made me *feel* beautiful. When he touched me; when he made love to me. And when he let me touch him and make love to him. It healed me to know that regardless of everybody else in my life, there was one person who loved me and wasn't afraid to let me know it.

I imagined he was there, in the hospital with me.

Thinking it was him I squeezed the hand I could feel holding mine and began to fight my way back to consciousness. It was a scary journey, let me tell you. I spiraled down through Bruce's rejections, those stated and never said. I watched my identity as Robin snatched away from me. From there I fell right into the nightmare that was supposed to have been the happiest day of my life: my wedding day. The memory didn't seem to want to let me go no matter how hard I struggled. Trapped and suffocating, I fought back, lashing out with all I had left, hoping and praying that it was enough. My head spun and I couldn't seem to breathe.

But I had to wake up. I had to! I could still feel that hand resting so quietly, with such trust, in mine. Someone I loved was waiting for me. Depending on me. After so many, many failures in my life, I couldn't face the possibility of failing here, too. Gradually, like a drowning man struggling his way to the surface of the sea, I clawed my way back to reality.

And bit my tongue to keep from crying out. The first thing I discovered was that reality hurt like blazes.

But there was still that hand in mine. Someone I loved. I forced myself to focus on that, shoving the pain into a small, dusty unused corner of my mind to be dealt with later. Just the way Bruce had taught me so long, long ago. Carefully, I opened my eyes.

And saw Garth.

Garth sitting awkwardly in the hard confines of a large straight-backed chair pulled close to my bed. Garth, whose sleeping face spoke so clearly of worry and exhaustion it lay like a stamp upon his features. Garth, whose slender, magical hand clutched at mine tightly, refusing, even in the dark abyss of sleep, to let me go.

I hadn't been dreaming after all. Someone I loved...was waiting for me.

My heart leapt into my throat. I swallowed hard. It didn't help.

Like an unfolding, healing miracle here was Garth. Again. Who, like Joey, like Kory, loved me in spite of myself. And who, in return for his love and passion, only wanted to know that he was also loved. I hadn't been able to tell him that simple thing. Or face it myself.

No more running, Dick.

No more.

I squeezed Garth's hand once more in mine, waiting for his eyes to open. Calm descended on me like a warm comforting blanket and I just *knew* what to do. I was committed, now.

And I wasn't afraid any longer.

His eyes opened.

  
{end act I}

***

 

### "And Then I Woke Up"

 

"Hi..." I greeted him softly, feeling like ten kinds of fool. Oh, great beginning, Grayson. Just what he wanted to hear, I'm sure. His eyes were guarded when he looked at me. Slowly, he released my hand and started to get up.

"Good," he said, "you're awake. I'll call the doctor."

I shook my head urgently--and then winced as my headache redoubled. Regardless, I didn't want the doctor; I needed to talk to Garth. "Garth, please.... The doctor can wait."

For an instant he froze; didn't move a single muscle. Then he sat down in his chair. Looked at me. Waited.

For all the thoughts that had been running whirling around my head, I still didn't know where to begin. Except to say again, "I'm so sorry."

That resolution was back on his face. "I'd wanted to wait until you were well enough to hear it. And you're not, but I need to tell you anyway--"

I could only imagine what he'd been thinking all this time.

He breathed out and caught my eyes. "One thing, regardless of anything else. Dick, don't ever...shut me out like that again. I can bear anger, or confusion, or whatever other honest emotion you have to give--but when you lie to yourself like that, lie to *me*--even if it were only as friends I can't...tolerate that. It's too--" he faltered, and I could see him struggling with some kind of painful truth. I waited, tried to look encouraging and let him get it out on his own.

When it came his voice was soft and full of too much pain. "Too familiar."

Oh. God.

Of course.

Arthur's temper is legendary and Garth had been on the receiving end of it more than once, occasionally physically, much more often emotionally. For all that, though, what hurt Garth far worse was Arthur's coldness. An unbridgeable emotional distance. And there I'd gone and put that same kind of distance between us.

"I won’t accept that. Not from you, or anyone. Not anymore." He said it flatly, but I heard him fighting with what he really felt.

"You have a right to be angry, Garth," I told him softly. "Every right in the world. I was an idiot."

His expression shifted, reflecting that anger, his lips pinched into a thin white line. He replied so quietly I barely heard him. "...Yes." Then, "I was angry," he whispered, and I could still hear the echoes of it in his quiet, firm voice. That and a rising shame.

It was only then, I think, that I realized just how hard that was for him to admit, and just how badly he needed to do it.

"Garth, I *deserve* your anger, okay?" I tried so hard to keep my voice calm and level. But I don't think I succeeded. I took both his hands in mine and stroked the long, slender fingers. "For God's sake, I ran out on you! For reasons that are so bogus, so *stupid*, even I can't believe them. Dammit, Garth, I *earned* your anger! Hang onto it until I do as much to earn your forgiveness! " His grip on my hand tightened until it was painful, but I silently gritted my teeth and held my tongue.

"Anger is--difficult...." he hissed between his teeth and looked away, unable to meet my gaze.

I should have been ready for that one. After all these years I should’ve known it before he said it. "Garth?" It took him several moments before he could look at me. But I can be a patient man with anyone but myself. When it's as important as this. I could still see that tension in his eyes, reflected in the set of the muscles of his neck and shoulders. "Anger isn't a sin, you know. You wouldn't be human if you didn't get angry. It's what you *do* with the anger that's important. And you’ve never let yours hurt me, or anyone else." He lowered his eyes for a moment, staring at our joined hands. When he looked back up at me his grip lessened just a bit and my bones didn't ache anymore.

Deep breath. And my turn for truth. "There's something else I need to tell you. Before anything else."

His expression shifted back to neutral, and I could see him mentally preparing for the worst. "All right."

"When...after I.... Shit." I rubbed at my eyes and didn't dare look at him again. "Bruce went missing a couple of weeks ago. Alfred called me, and Babs. She also called Jean-Paul Valley."

I heard him shift in his chair. "You mean Azrael. The one who--"

"Yeah, him." The one Bruce depended on instead of me. Oh, get OVER it, Grayson. "We were waiting outside the NML zone...it was...." I swallowed and tried to start over. "We talked. I didn't want to understand him, but I did, and he--there was this baseball his father had given him, it rolled away and I caught it and he *cried.* I couldn't just...leave him in the dark."

An indrawn breath, almost too soft to hear, and I was too much of a coward to face him.

"Dick..." he began, "you--you don't have to--" He stopped, started again. “This isn’t the time--”

But it was, or I might never get up the courage to say it at all. "Garth. Don’t. You need to know this, and waiting isn’t gonna make it any easier. And I *need* to tell you, okay?"

No answer. All right. Brutal honesty.

"Maybe on some level I was-- I was trying to punish myself. I don't know. There's no real excuse for what I did. To myself, to Jean-Paul...or to you. I'm not even sure I can explain it. I was hurting, Garth. Hurting...and really frightened. And suddenly-- " I had to stop and gulp for a breath. "Suddenly there was Jean-Paul. Who--who needed somebody. I know now that it wasn't me he needed. It was never me. But it was easy to lie to myself. I thought I needed someone, too. And JP...I thought he was safe." I felt the acid burn of bile in the back of my throat, and it had nothing to do with my injuries. "Because I *didn't* love him. But it was nice to feel wanted. Comfortable. And I convinced myself that it was okay. You know? That we were both getting what we wanted out of the deal."

Low voice. "And did you?"

"*No.* God, no. It was completely *wrong.* I broke it off with Jean-Paul and *this* happened because Azrael...didn't take it well."

"You broke with Jean-Paul for his own sake. That sounds familiar, too."

I'd never heard Garth sound that bitter before. Not even after Tula's death. I 'd earned every bit of it.

"His sake, and mine, and Garth--it wasn't the same at all." I tried to figure out how to explain, slowly putting my thoughts in order. "I left him because I was hurting him by being there. He's too...vulnerable...and the truth is, I was using him to try to forget about you." There it was, as ugly as truth ever got.

"But--*Valley.*"

Something in his tone made me finally open my eyes and look at him. What I saw there, in his face....

He knew.

Garth knew not just why, but why *Jean-Paul.* The same thing Brian Bryan knew. The same thing--

I didn't want him to know. *I* didn't want to know. Ashamed, I closed my eyes again. Even in that brief moment I'd seen a kind of...horror in his violet eyes, a disgust I felt mirrored in myself, at myself. That was it, then. If I couldn't even face it, how could I expect Garth to?

...Causes and effects. What I never faced with *him* underlying all that fear of...losing someone I loved again. Not daring to care that much because it always went bad, so that this time--

My voice choked and threatened to desert me, but I refused to let it. "I pushed you away because I was afraid. Afraid of admitting, even to myself, how I really feel about you...about us."

I felt rather than heard him sigh, and take my hand. "Listen. Look at me."

I looked again, and saw. No disgust, no horror--at least, not the kind I'd been thinking, the kind born of moral outrage. Rather dismay for my sake, and compassion. More than I deserved.

His words were very clear and very firm. "Make up your mind, Richard. I'm not going to let you play games with my feelings any more. This isn't about today, or yesterday, it's about tomorrow. And I want a tomorrow with you, but you need to decide--"

"I have. I did, I mean, when I left Jean-Paul, it was because I knew--God, Garth, I hurt you and I never, ever wanted to do that. I want to try again. Can you--would you stay with me? I don't want to lose you."

I held my breath, waiting.

"Did you ever doubt it?" That was simple truth, clear and honest and pure, and I wanted to weep at the sound. Yes, I had. I promised myself I'd never be that stupid again.

"I don't deserve you. But I-- God, I haven't even said." I squeezed his hand. Tried to put everything I felt into my eyes. "I love you. I want this to work, between us. I want to try."

His eyes on mine, searching. "Say that again."

"Love you. I love you. Give me the chance and I'll say it for--for as long as you let me. I'm so sorry I hurt you. Let me make it up to you? Please? I know--I know I'm awful at this, I've never been good at relationships, I'm a bad bet but if you can put up with me--"

"Dick! Yes."

"...did you say yes?"

He nodded solemnly. "Yes."

"You're not even going to make me beg?"

Garth blinked and smiled. "If you really *want* me to, Robbie...but no." He got up and leaned over me, the look in his violet eyes going right to my heart. "'As long as I let you' could be a very long time, you realize. I won't let you go. Not that easily, not again."

Please, don't. "I'm counting on it."

"Good." He bent and closed that last gap between us.

He tasted of love, and forgiveness, and the sea.

 

  
  
I'm not naïve enough to think it'll be as simple as that. We have a lot more to talk about, things to figure out. But the one thing we both know is how we feel; and that, with work and a little luck, can see us through the rest.

It's a beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOT the end. Thank you all for your patience. There's much more in store... but now, I'm going to go collapse into a nervous wreck. *g*
> 
> Once again, to Dannell: without whom not a word ever would have been written. Thank you for giving them life--and love. :)
> 
> 'rith


	15. Shadow of the Bat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sea & Sky XIV: Shadow of the Bat by Dannell and kerithwyn.
> 
> The final hurdle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Dannell for patience. And to Kael again and always, for making the most difficult parts of this entire arc clearer with her always-insightful comments. 
> 
> PART I by 'rith.  
> PART II by Dannell and 'rith.   
> PART III prologue by 'rith, main portion by Dannell.

## Part I.

 

**Some weeks previous:**

IMAGE of a man dressed in a costume that inspires fear. The emblem on his chest shouts it. A man in a cave, steeped in darkness.

MOVEMENT as the man stands and paces the floor, passing mementos of past triumphs and past tragedies. He stops briefly at a glass case that holds a costume of red, yellow, green. All contrast to his form, shrouded in black and deepest gray.

SOUND as something emerges from his throat, not quite a growl, and he throws the cowl impatiently back to reveal his face: chiseled features set like stone, handsome and unreadable.

FLICKER as the façade breaks and the ice-blue eyes rage with emotion, the jaw tightens, his hands clench at his side. A motion--almost a shudder--goes through him and the mask again falls cleanly into place, denying everything.

FADEOUT on a man, in darkness.

 

**Now:**

A contralto voice from deep in the Cave brought him out of himself. "I would help you if you allow it, Beloved."

"Talia." The Batman turned to see her slender form emerging from the shadows. She was dressed as elegantly as ever, her simple gown probably concealing any number of weapons or perhaps just her deadly hands. Her brown hair fell long and straight across her shoulders like silk. She loved him. He-- "Why are you here?"

"You are--distressed. And have been so for some time."

He frowned. "Why would you think so?"

She looked at him patiently, amber-brown eyes meeting his even through the shrouding cowl. "I may not have your most-perfect detective's instincts, my love, but I can analyze a changed pattern of behavior and draw a conclusion. News from Gotham is...most important to me."

Batman was silent for a moment. Then he said, "And what did you see?"

Talia nodded briskly. "I have read in the reports from the police and the physicians at Arkham Asylum that the criminals they apprehended after you had done with them were in considerably worse condition than usual. None shed a tear over this, but some wonder at the excessive force. And Jim Gordon himself, whom you trust, begins to fear that you have once again been 'replaced' by an unworthy substitute."

"He knows I wouldn't--" he began, then stopped himself. "I'll speak with him. Anything else?"

"Only that Bruce Wayne has been even more absent than is his wont from both his business and social affairs. Most are willing to excuse that by virtue of the reasons you set in place. Although Lucius Fox seems more annoyed than usual."

Batman didn't bother to question how she knew even that. "I see."

"Yes. But I do not." She drew closer, moving to sink down gracefully to the floor by his chair. Her scent, a corner of his mind automatically noted, was cinnamon. "This city and even the world needs you, Beloved. If something hinders you, allow me to remedy it."

His voice remained cool. "It remains in Ra's interests to have me at peak efficiency, I suppose?"

Talia's eyes flashed anger. "I am my father's daughter, but not his slave. This has nothing to do with him."

"Doesn't it?" Batman rose, ignoring her outstretched hand. "What do you want me to do, Talia? Trust you? Every time Ra's al-Ghul sets one of his plans in motion you're right there beside him."

"I believe in his vision. But I did not come to debate philosophy. Bel--Bruce, *look* at me!" He did, turning to see her staring at him with challenge. "You refused to allow me to aid you in reclaiming No Man's Land. Perhaps correctly. But you *did* seek the help of your allies, your children. Why are they not here to help you now?"

"Because--" he snarled, then went silent.

Talia studied him for a moment. "Because it *concerns* them. One or more."

Batman said nothing.

"Then this *is* a matter only you can resolve. I cannot...would not interfere. I thought you had learned the truth that you needed them for your great task, and would not shut them from your life again." She rose and nodded. "Tend to this. You do yourself only hurt, and your city as well, by neglecting it."

"Talia." It was a whisper. "You don't know."

"No. And much as I wish otherwise, you do not trust me to tell." She approached to within an arm's length. "Someday, Beloved." The daughter of the demon raised her hand and touched the Batman's cheek. A fleeting second, and then she moved past him toward the exit. But her voice stayed with him.

"Tend to this."

And the Batman resolved, then and there, to do just that.

 

{end part 1}

 

  
'rith's extraneous timing note: Doesn't really matter, but those of you reading the comics know some pretty significant stuff has happened recently with Bruce and Ra's and Talia. All this is set considerably before that point; I'm planning a fic to show where exactly the series is in regards to canon, but not for awhile yet. (Suffice to say that story-arc in JLA hasn't happened yet; we're just post-NML.)

 

## Part II.

  
Dick was coming home today.

Against the advice of his physicians, but Richard Grayson was more stubborn than they; and besides, he'd said smiling at Garth, you'll be there for me.

Ohhh, yes.

His business in Washington concluded, Garth had returned to Blüdhaven to ensure that Dick's apartment was still livable. Not unexpectedly, he'd found the cupboards bare save for a half-empty and stale box of cornflakes. Garth suspected it gave Dick some kind of perverse delight to insist on eating like a child.

So he'd gone out to pick up some essentials, the rest would be delivered later and he was heading up the stairs when a cheerful lilt hailed him. "H'lo, again!"

He'd met Bridget Clancy some weeks previous, in passing. "Hello, Miss Clancy--"

"Ah, just Clancy, we're not formal around here." The landlady grinned up at him. "But it was kind of you t'call and let us know Dick was all right. I..." she blushed faintly and went on, "...we've been worried about him. So he had a bit of an accident?"

Clancy's concern didn't surprise Garth at all. People fell in love with Dick as easily as breathing. He knew what *that* was like, and smiled at her. "Yes, but he'll be fine; he's healing and should be home today."

"Good. We've missed him around here. But, ah, I should let you get on before that all melts." She nodded with her chin toward the bags in his hands. "But you be sure 'n let me know if I can do anything. I c'n bake some o' my famous cranberry muffins as a welcome-home...."

"I'm sure he'd like that." Actually Dick *hated* them, but he was too polite to say so. "I'll tell him you asked after him."

"Thanks, Garth. Be seein' you."

She watched him go, smiling slightly, rueful.

***

Then Dick was home, finally, and three days of blessed peace. Dick was under strict orders *not* to exert himself, no matter how much they both wanted to do just that after so long. Mostly he slept, the after-effects of his concussion making concentration difficult...and when awake, complained. Until:

"I'm sorry, Garth, you've been here three days and all I've done is bitch."

"It's all right, Dick. I think people who have concussions are allowed to bitch."

"Yeah, but you shouldn't have to put up with it. Not after--I mean, I should be bringing you flowers and stuff, not making you listen to me gripe."

"You can make it up to me later."

"At this rate, it's going to take years."

"...that sounds good, actually...."

But despite that they were together and that mattered.

During one of Dick's more coherent moments he'd finally called Barbara to apologize face-to-face for his rudeness some weeks previous. On seeing them both she'd waved it off with no more than a "Do it again and I'll kick your ass, Grayson" and a wink for Garth. Somehow having someone *else* see them together made it more real...which is what had set Dick off in the first place, of course, but this time he just laughed and drowsily promised to visit her as soon as he could. "You'd better. Both of you. And I want *details.*" Her wicked grin left them both wondering just exactly what she meant--just as she'd intended, no doubt. Trust the Oracle to sign off with a cryptic remark.

It mattered that even if Dick was sleepy and...irritable, he still refused to sleep at night without Garth there; it mattered that the first thing Garth heard on waking was a murmured, "I love you"; it mattered that Dick reminded Garth to bring some of his things from Titans Tower to here, and mused idly on maybe finding a bigger place.

This morning Dick had almost been his old self, cheerful and affectionate, and if Garth hadn't needed to go out for the day they might very well have--

*Tonight,* Garth thought, and the promise of it was enough to send a thrill of anticipation down his spine.

***

An agonizingly long time later, hours feeling like days, and he'd almost vaulted the stairs in eagerness to be *home.* And found--

A note. "Felt cooped up. Gone 'flying.' Back soon." A scrawl that almost might have been a signature, and Garth could only shake his head. Stubborn, reckless--

But not out of character in the least. That impulsiveness was, he thought, something he could learn from. And learn to love.

In three days they'd barely begun to see how this new pattern of their lives would form. Neither was entirely certain how or where they'd work out the mechanics of their relationship but both were determined that they *would.* Garth had no intention of pulling Dick away from his adopted home in 'Haven, or his job here. Add to that their responsibilities elsewhere: the Titans, certainly, for both of them, and that meant Manhattan. He himself had duties in the Atlantean cities and his new diplomatic ones both at the UN in New York and in Washington, D.C. ...and surely Dick would, on occasion, be summoned to Gotham.

He heard the voice behind him as if its speaker had been conjured by the thought.

"Make yourself at home," came soft words from out of the shadows, and the startled Atlantean mage spun around to face the owner of that deep voice. "But then, I see that you already *have.*"

Garth met Bruce Wayne's eyes, the shadowy figure now emerging into the light with slow deliberation. Not that he needed his eyes to tell him whom he faced. And he *should* have sensed his presence, he'd been too distracted by his own thoughts of the future and besides, if anyone could fool Atlantean hearing it would be *this* man....

How foolish to feel "caught," like an intruder in his own home. "Mr. Wayne! Dick didn't tell me he was expecting you."

"He wasn't. I wanted to speak to him." That rich voice was leashed like a pit bull, under tight control. But then...when wasn't it?

"Is there a problem? Can I help?" Surely this was some Gotham matter, and if he was to be a part of Dick's life then perhaps he might lend his aid as well--

"*You've...*" the cold control shattered like fragile glass, "done more than enough." Like glass strewn in the pathway of an unshod man, the way before Garth became suddenly very dangerous; fraught with peril. And painful. Icy rage and fury burned at the edges of that sharp, sharp voice.

Astonished, he could only react with the truth. "I don't understand."

"No, I don't suppose you would." Bruce moved toward the door, deliberate, his back to Garth a straight tense line.

It didn't make *sense.* "This can't...you don't...you came to speak with him about *me?!*"

Bruce stopped. "Don't you know what you're doing?" He turned, gaze intent and angry. "Look at what's happened to him. He's distracted, not concentrating on what he should be doing. That's dangerous."

...He'd heard that before, or something like that, from Dick's own lips...back when he was busy denying what Kory might mean to him. It was as untrue here as it had been then. Garth fought down the impulse to call the man a liar to his face and replied as mildly as he could. Considering. "So he is never to love another, only to care for his *chosen* duty?" Emphasizing that while Bruce was...driven to do what he did nightly, Dick had chosen that life.

Unperturbed, Bruce went on. "You're going to get him killed. Is that what you want, Garth? If it is, then just sit back and watch."

The whole conversation felt unreal. The only weapon Garth had was honesty. "I would never allow that. I love him too much. And if you can't understand that, or approve of it, that doesn't change the fact."

"Can't understand *what?* That you want him? That he wants you? I...understand that well enough. *You* don't understand the commitment. How could you? Barely a Titan, always fleeing back to Atlantis...." Bruce's lip curled in disdain.

"There were reasons for that," Garth snapped before he could stop himself, and saw Wayne smile slightly in victory.

Bruce Wayne. *Not* the Batman. And Garth refused to be intimidated by this man, *here,* when he and Dick were just on the verge of discovering what they might be to each other.

"Why are you here, Mr. Wayne? Why am I worth such trouble? Why do you regard me as a threat? You never interfered with his relationship with Koriand'r." Garth tilted his head and regarded Bruce thoughtfully. "Why is that?"

No answer, and Garth reached for the one he'd sensed even back then. "You don't believe she mattered. You were wrong! You underestimate what he learned from Kory."

Bruce snorted, an unwilling angry sound. "I can guess what he got from her."

"No, I don't believe you can."

Ice-blue eyes narrowed. "Enlighten me, then."

"Support. Affection. *Unconditional* love, which you never gave."

"How *dare* you!"

No visible reaction except for a tremor in Garth's hand he couldn't quite still. "I...we all admire you, sir. There was nothing any of us wanted more, than to earn your respect. There was nothing *he* wanted more--" Garth took a deep breath--"except your affection. Growing up with him, we saw him suffer from your coldness, and hurt. It always fell to us to make up for that lack."

"How many times do he and I need to *have* this argument? I'm proud of him, he knows that."

"He does *now.* Back then...well. As you say, you have had that argument before."

"You have," Wayne said, very softly and very deliberately, "no idea what you're playing at here, do you."

"I'm not afraid of you, Mr. Wayne," he tried to reply. But the words came out muffled and blunted of their force by a sudden thick Atlantean accent, reminiscent of his childhood. Evoked by the man here...whose whole manner made him a child once more.

{{ Arthur shouting at him again. "Speak English, Garth! English! Damn it, boy, it's *you* not *oou!* *You!* Say it properly!" }}

Garth bit his tongue in frustration and Bruce smiled.

"No, you're not afraid of me, are you?" said the other man, cloaked in his own shadow. "You never were. It's not *me* you're afraid of at all." His stomach roiled and Garth closed his eyes. When he opened them....

Bruce Wayne was gone. Garth was alone with the Batman.

Garth watched one dark eyebrow lift like a gathering storm cloud at sea.

"Arthur changed after Arthur, Jr. was born, didn't he Garth? He'd been willing to play the game of family before then. But with a son of his own...you became just another common subject. And one who dared to speak as if you had some "right" to his affections. Such presumption. How many times did he remind of your place? Reject you? And you never said a word. Not one." For a moment the young mage thought he glimpsed fleeting compassion in the cold blue depths of the Batman's eyes.

"Were you really that desperate to belong?" he asked softly. "Was it worth the humiliation of Arthur's disregard and temper just to have someplace to *be?* That's sad, Garth. Very sad. But Dick isn't the answer. He's not what you're searching for. He never was."

Garth could feel the bones creak in his own hands, his fists tightening in reaction. Hearing more than he wanted to beneath the surface of those cold words.

"Find another target, son," advised the Batman with narrowed eyes. "I want you to leave Dick alone. Do we understand one another?" When Garth remained silent, the Batman gave him the coldest, most unpleasant smile Garth had ever seen mar a human face.

"I see that we do. Good." The tall man had his hand on the door handle, opening the door to leave before Garth found his voice.

"No, Mr. Wayne," he said quietly and watched the Batman pause to listen, "you don't know me very well. 'Aqualad' is gone. And so is the Robin you remember. I'm not Arthur's 'little minnow' any longer and he's not your 'chum.' I will *not* leave him, not because you wish it. Only if he does." For a long moment Garth thought that he might simply leave. But when his hands slowly fell away from the door handle and the Batman turned to face him, the young Atlantean stood his ground.

No easy task.

"Don't fight me, Garth," he said, low-voiced. "You'll lose."

"No. I won't." He saw it all, now. "I may not have been with the Titans as much as I would have liked, but I was eager to learn all about the surface world in those days. I watched. I learned. I didn't meet you for quite some time, but I learned from you even so. I learned how fortunate I was merely to endure Arthur's indifference. Dick suffered far worse." Steadying himself, Garth took a breath and spoke truth. "You denied him the one thing on Earth he wanted more than anything else: you. You made him love you...and then couldn't love him back."

Then it was just too much, and he quickly turned away before the other man could see the gathering tears in his eyes.

No single sound betrayed movement, not even to Atlantean senses; but when Garth steeled himself and turned again Bruce Wayne was gone, fled into the gathering darkness.

***

*Say nothing.*

*I can't do that.*

*You'll ruin it.*

*Leaving this will ruin it.*

*But if--*

If, what? If this--"situation" was allowed to go on, to *fester* as it had for so many years already, it would taint the foundation of whatever he and Dick tried to build together. This would never be over until those two both come to terms. With themselves, and with each other.

A sound from the back window, the window-frame scraping open to allow Nightwing quiet reentry into Dick Grayson's apartment. Dick coming in slightly sheepish but unable to hold back a grin. "God, what a rush."

Garth knew how he must have looked--shell-shocked and pale. In a moment Dick was by his side, concerned. "What--what's wrong?!"

"Dick..." it was a terrible cliché, but even so. "...we need to talk."

 

  
{end Part II}

 

## Part III.

  
{Prologue}

I shouldn't have gone out, I knew that, but I just *had* to. I'm a terrible patient. I get...cranky. Garth had been so good about putting up with me, I was probably tempting even his patience by slipping out, but I couldn't help it.

Sometimes I just need to fly.

I was still learning this city, her open ways and hidden mysteries. Most of them nasty, I wasn't harboring any illusions about that. Gotham is shadows and light. Blüdhaven is gray, all shades blending until you could barely tell one street from the next, one crime, one criminal, one more dirty secret.

I loved it.

Which says something about me, maybe. But I'd come here determined to make it better, one small step at a time. It suddenly struck me that Garth could manipulate *water,* and how much easier it would be to clean up the city--

Guess I hadn't outgrown the bad puns, either. Grinning, I swung around and headed back toward my--our apartment. Garth would be back and I was *really* looking forward to spending...quality time with him.

I landed and opened the apartment window, slipping inside. Back on solid ground I had to catch myself--just a touch dizzy, I'd automatically blocked it out while on the jumpline out of habit but maybe I'd overdone it a little. I felt *good,* though. I stopped long enough just to strip out of my costume and throw on some clothes--which, I hoped, I wouldn't be in for too long.

But you know what they say about the best-laid plans.

He was in the living room, quiet, and one look at his face told me *something* had happened. "What--what's wrong?!"

And he said, "We need to talk."

My heart just about stopped. And nearly failed to start again when he said, "Bruce was here."

I couldn't process it. Here...but he hadn't stayed. And Garth had seen him. And...what? "W-what did he say?"

"Too much. I...." The same kind of resolution on his face as in the hospital when we'd talked, except even more determined. "I think you need to work things out with him. You can't let it go any longer."

Shit. No. No. I didn't want to I didn't want to say--"I'm...over that. "

"Jean-Paul."

I winced. "A big, big mistake."

I think the worst thing was that Garth wasn't even *accusing,* just stating things as fact. "More than that. You're not the only one who's looked for...comfort when you're hurt, in people you shouldn't. But *that* choice--Valley is a pale reflection of someone you've always wanted."

Something like desperation tried to claw its way out of my throat. "That won't happen again. I don't want...that, I want you!"

His eyes reflected such pain as he said, "We're only beginning to know how much we could be to each other. I *want* to know. I think we could be very good for each other." He paused, and then said very softly, "I want to be with you. But for both our sakes I won't...if you continue to let him overshadow everything you do. Everyone..." he closed his eyes. "Everyone you try to love."

"Garth...."

"Think about it. That's all." He leaned over and kissed me, once lightly on the mouth, and walked out.

So I thought about it.

Bruce had always been there, whether I acknowledged it or not. In my dreams, in my fantasies, the shadowy figure I never dared to put a face on.

And he knew. He *had* to know. World's greatest detective could hardly miss what was sometimes quite literally under his nose. He never said a word, never gave a hint he knew.

He was so closed off from his emotions, deliberately so. And even if he wasn't, I understood all the potentially nasty elements; I'd been his ward, in his care since I was a child, and--

Brian Bryan had it pegged, all right. "I'm not the one who wants to sleep with his father." I hit him for that, but not because the essence of it didn't ring true at some basic level.

Except that Bruce isn't my father. He never *was* a "dad"--we were *partners.* That's the best and truest word for it. And somewhere along the line I'd fallen in love with him. Can't remember a time when I didn't feel that way.

But the pure fact was, there wasn't any point to it.

He wasn't going to change. I wasn't going to call him on it. These were the constants of our world.

And maybe I couldn't stop how I felt, but I *could* stop letting it...shadow me.

I thought I *had* done that, I really did. But Bruce showing up tore it all open again. Why would he do this? He'd come, and he'd stayed only to talk to Garth, and now Garth was *gone.* What had he said? And why *now?*

What did he *want* from me?!

No. I wasn't going to sit back and take it, this time. *This* time he was going to face me, not do the "silent-Bat" thing I'd dealt with all my life: This time...

Bruce had some explaining to do.

I headed for Gotham.

  
{end Prologue}

  
Christ, I must have trod these same stone steps a million times by now. Cold hard stone leading down, down into the darkness.

Like the darkness echoed in the man waiting for me at the bottom.

I've walked this stone almost all my life, peered into that darkness. I spent my childhood making a light to shine in that darkness, hoping to lead the man trapped there out into the sunlight because I was the only one who could make him smile. Because I was the only one who could reach him. I've dashed down these steps on eager feet, laughing in anticipation of adventure; and I've climbed up them, racing out of the blackness with tears in my eyes more than once. But I have never, *never* stormed down them with such violence in my heart. God help me, I was so angry I'm surprised I didn't leave molten footprints behind me in the stone, I was so hot.

And there he was.

Stripped to the waist, Bruce pulled himself casually up on the high bar in a one-handed chin-up. In the shadows of the Batcave his skin gleamed like gold and the muscles of his chest and shoulders rolled smoothly beneath his skin like oil on coiled, fire-tempered steel. Christ, he was beautiful. I felt my flesh stir just watching him. In rage and frustration at my own weakness, I pounded the top of my thigh with a tightly clenched fist, relishing the pain. I was going to have bruises that reached to the bone tomorrow. I bit my lip until I tasted blood. Without any effort at all, I could recall those strong arms around my shoulders in rough affection, the feel of those broad hands on my body as we trained, the sight of those full lips pulled back in a rare smile....

And for the first time I looked without hiding, not a sideways glance or a furtive peek but really *looking.* The lines of him. The strength. Finally acknowledging to myself that I wanted him.

GodGodGod

So beautiful....

With a leap, I sprang for the overhead trapeze. Just as my questing fingers wrapped themselves around the bar I saw Bruce drop gently to the floor now thirty feet below me and watch me with smoky, hooded eyes. I began to swing, grabbing for the rhythm of the bar. I was going to have to time this exactly, focus past the lingering dizziness from that monster concussion. Not even I had ever done this without a catcher. And not a net in sight, either. If I missed.... Below, in the dimness, I saw Bruce frown. Resolutely, I pushed everything else out of my mind. There was only me, the trapeze in my hands...and the other trapeze calling to me across the gulf of air. All I had to do was reach for it. Just reach for it. That's all....

{ "Come on, Dicky Boy," encourages my father, smiling, "you can do it! Just reach for it, son ..." }

{ "Watch me, Dad! Watch me!" }

I closed my eyes. Before Dick Grayson was anything else, before he was Nightwing, before he was Robin, even, he was a flyer; an aerial boy wonder. The star of the Flying Graysons. I did my first triple somersault on the high trapeze when I was eight years old. I'll never forget the look of pride on my father's face.

I let go of the bar and for a brief, heartbreaking moment I was flying ... flying, the cool wind rushing through my hair and over my face like a lover's caress. I was free. Free ...

With perfect timing, I spun through the air, uncoiled and caught the other trapeze, smoothly. The world's first unassisted quadruple somersault on the high trapeze.

"Just for you, Bruce," I thought, bitterness like ashes burning in my mouth, "just for you...."

From the shadows I heard Bruce's sharp intake of breath, saw fear widen those glacier-blue eyes. But when I let go of the trapeze, dropped lightly to the floor, tucked, rolled and came up on my feet facing him, he didn't make a sound. Not one.

I'm one of only two people in the world who can manage a quadruple somersault on the high trapeze.

Two.

In the world.

Want to know one of the things I'm proudest of in all my life?

The other one *isn't* Bruce.

I was never able to teach him the quad. Oh, he's good on the trapeze. Really good.

But not as good as *I* am.

So why had I just risked my life to remind him of that?

Or was it myself I was reminding?

Almost faster than the eye could follow, I grabbed a batarang and threw it at him. Almost faster than the eye could follow, he dodged. Chest heaving, I flung myself at him until I was close enough to smell the musky scent of his sweat, see the arctic ice in his eyes.

"Damn you!" I cursed at him. "Damn you to Hell. Why? Why, Bruce, why?" He didn't move a muscle. Didn't retreat one inch. The Batman stared back at me from out of eyes hard as stone and just as expressionless.

"Why couldn't you just leave me alone, Bruce? Garth is gone! He left and this time I'm not sure if he's coming back!"

At least he had the good grace to look away, unable to met my eyes.

"I'm sorry," was all he said. Just ... "I'm sorry." That was it. My whole life reduced to two simple words: "I'm sorry." Inside, something precious and long cherished withered and died.

"You're not a very good liar, Bruce!" I snarled like the trapped animal I felt. "And you are like *hell* 'sorry!' If you were *sorry,* you rotten son of a bitch, you'd never have done it, would you?" My fist lashed out and he just stood there. He let me hit him and didn't flinch, not even to wipe off the blood dripping from his nose. In a dark pool, it spattered the stone floor of the Batcave and sank deep into the heart of the rock. It certainly wouldn't be the first drops of Bruce's blood to become a part of the Cave. The Batman built this grim, cold technological marvel he calls the Batcave on blood and sweat, with not nearly enough tears to dilute the blood. He built it on all these things.

And the body of someone I love very much. A little boy who died one week to the day past his sixth birthday. Who never really had a chance to live.

A little boy named Bruce Wayne.

I looked at him now, bleeding and in pain, but still invulnerable behind his high walls of deep silence and I had to look away. He was headed somewhere now that I couldn't follow him. Down a long, dark path to someplace I didn't want to go. And I couldn't stop him.

I tried to bring him back from that path once, and I didn't make it. I wasn't strong enough. I grew up every day of my life watching someone I love slowly shut himself away from everyone else; growing more and more distant until I couldn't reach him anymore. Until I wasn't even sure he existed any longer.

Already the blood was staunching its flow, drying on his face. Bruce has a marvelous body for quick healing. And a special gift for enduring and inflicting pain.

"Master Bruce has an affinity for suffering," Alfred once observed with a sigh, wiping up the bloody remains of another night spent patrolling the streets of Gotham. "And the Batman likes to share it."

"Feel better now, Dick?" Bruce asked, his quiet voice echoing softly off the walls of the Cave.

"Fuck you, Bruce!" I hissed. "Fuck you."

And I watched his face fall absolutely still. He never flinched at all when I hit him with my fists, but he did now, almost as if my words were blows. I smiled. Oh, I didn't need a mirror to know *exactly* what that smile looked like, either. After all, I'd seen it on Bruce's face for most of my life. I'm not likely to forget it.

"But, then, that's the problem, isn't it, *chum?*" I said cheerfully.

Stepping out of my sneakers, I began to slowly circle him, stalking him like a prowling predator. With a single motion, I stripped myself naked to the waist and Joey's favorite Pearl Jam tee-shirt fell to the floor in a wrinkled heap. It's all I have left of Joey and it's very precious to me. Usually, I'm awfully careful with it. I couldn't really tell you why I chose it to wear when I came here to face Bruce. Except....

Except maybe I just wanted someone who loved me to be with me, touching me, when I did this.

Lithely, I danced around Bruce. He began to back away from me, retreating now with quick steps until his back was literally against the wall. Wide-eyed, he stared at me. Was that fear I saw lurking there? He stumbled back a final step and caught himself with a swift hand. My smile broadened.

All that grace and power ...

Running away.

From *me.*

Was Bruce afraid of me? I wondered, astonished.

Oh yes. Yes, he was.

He was *terrified* of me. And I thought I knew why, now. Something clicked inside my head and suddenly a lot of things began to fall into place. I chuckled; an unpleasant sound that rattled off the walls.

When I was a child, Bruce was always there for me. If I woke from a nightmare, watching my parents fall again to their deaths, he was there to hold me. When he taught me to throw a batarang, he cradled me close to his body in instruction. When he taught me to fight, he used to touch me, unafraid. He laughed with me and we played rough boyish games. He didn't hesitate to hug me or ruffle my hair in affection. If I did something well he praised me with words and an arm slipped around my shoulder.

When I was a *child* ...

Fluid as water, I molded myself against him. I heard him gasp and climb up on his toes trying to get away from me. But he had no place left to go.

Neither did I. We were both trapped here in this dank, wet hole in the ground.

Love is such a bitch.

I ran my hands lightly over the broad expanse of his heavy muscled chest, down the washboard length of his stomach. Beneath my caressing fingers, I felt him shiver. His breath came in short, quick gasps like an engine, long unused, cold and dormant, now struggling to start. Searching for a spark to take fire.

"Do you like that, Bruce?" I demanded. He closed his eyes and turned the only part of his body he could move without dislodging me, his face, away from me. "Yes, you do, don't you?" I pressed my groin against his insistently. Like sunlight, I could feel the heat raising off his tense body in overpowering waves, scorching me. One hand slipped beneath the waistband of his loose sweats, stroking him and I tangled the other in the inky depths of his sweat-slick hair. I saw his eyes go wide and panicky, his breath harsh and uncontrolled as it almost never is.

"You want me as much as I want you, don't you?" I whispered in his ear. "You always have, haven't you? I understand now why you stopped touching me. I grew up, didn't I? I wasn't a little boy anymore. And you *wanted* me." I ran my tongue tantalizingly up the long length of his neck along the path of his carotid artery and sucked at his earlobe. "Are you hard yet, Bruce?" I whispered again. "Are you hard?" My busy fingers told me the answer and I smiled.

Hard as the stone beneath our feet.

I'm sure my smile looked exactly like Bruce at his emotionless worst. When liquid nitrogen could freeze at the look in his eye…but his face is absolutely empty. Lucky me. I'm one of the few people who can tell when Bruce is really angry. He *plays* at being harsh and frightening most of the time…

But when Bruce is really angry, he doesn't shout or threaten, pose or posture. It's when his eyes go dead and sparkle like old, old glacial ice that you'd better pay attention.

Because then, he *will* hurt you.

And I *hate* being reminded how much like him I can be.

Like sudden, striking lightning, there was an explosion of pain in my chest and I was flying across the room, sailing through the air almost as if I were weightless. Like flying on the high trapeze ... Considering the company he sometimes keeps, it's easy to forget how *strong* Bruce is. Bruce may not be Clark ... but then, neither is anybody else but Clark. Bruce gets by. With a dull roar in my ears, I landed in a battered heap against the far wall. I’d barely managed to turn in midair, catching my shoulder on the stone. Groaning, I gritted my teeth then tried to pull myself to my feet, struggling against gravity. I must have failed because the next thing I remember is the sickening scrape of my head against the wall and the warm feel of trickling blood oozing down my face.

When the world stopped spinning, I tried again to regain my feet. I didn't make it that time, either. Blurry eyes brought me a swimming vision of bright blue eyes and hair the color of deep midnight.

"Oh God! Dick - I - " Flinching, I crawled away from the sound of that deep baritone voice, from out of the reach of those hands.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" I shouted.

And burst into tears. I cradled my head on my knees and rocked like a child.

"Damn, Grayson, " I thought, "just *look* at you! Blubbering like a baby. And for what? Something you can't have. Something you were never, ever gonna have to begin with. You're just a freaking walking tragedy, aren't you?"

I couldn't seem to stop crying. That's something I've always been afraid of, you know. Somehow, I've known since the beginning of this thing, way back in my mid-teens, that if I ever *started* crying for Bruce, I wasn't gonna be able to stop. Ever. That well is too deep to ever run dry.

All those years ... all those wasted years....

Beside me, I watched Bruce sink slowly to the floor, as if his body were suddenly too heavy for his knees to support, and sit down heavily without any grace at all. Strange, for the Batman. He seemed to have trouble catching his breath. For a long time we just sat there, together in our melancholy, listening to the whisper of passing time. I couldn't tell you how long we sat. Just ... a long time. Finally, an eternity later, I looked at Bruce and discovered that blood wasn't the only thing staining the stone of the Batcave, now. I've always understood Bruce better than most others. It's a gift or a curse ... take your pick.

But right now, I didn't *want* to understand him. God forgive me, but I didn't. I didn't want to look into the eyes of the sad, frightened little boy who lurks at the heart of the Batman. I didn't want to think about Bruce, growing old alone. One day even the magnificent instrument that was his finely honed body would betray him and the Batman would be forced to hang up the cape and cowl. What, then, would happen to Bruce Wayne?

"Bruce," I said gently, my voice threatening to tremble, "you don't want me." It wasn't a question. Even now he couldn't meet my eyes, couldn't look at me and face the truth.

"I-- can't.... " he choked.

Tenderly, I lifted his chin and looked into his eyes, a bright shining blue like the sky outside this huddling place deep in the bowels of the earth. I carefully wiped the tears from his face. "Then let me go," I pleaded softly. "Let me go to someone who *can.*"

Leaning down, I kissed his hair, chaste as a virgin and held onto him tightly. God, I didn't ever want to let him go.

But I was going to have to.

"I can't go on like this, Bruce," I mourned, "I can't go through the rest of my life looking for you in another body. I can't. I'll destroy myself if I keep trying. I almost did that with Jean-Paul. Worse, I almost took him with me. What's left there are little bits and pieces that I *hope* Brian can put back together. It's got to stop, Bruce, it's got to stop. I can't do this anymore." Like an exhausted child he closed his eyes and leaned his head on my chest. I stroked his hair.

"And neither can you," I whispered.

After a moment, so soon, so damned soon ... he slipped quietly out of my embrace and opened his eyes. They were as clear and peaceful as I've ever seen them.

"Garth went to Titans' Tower in NYC," he said. "He'll be going back to Atlantis, soon. You'd better hurry or you'll miss him."

I only looked back once. At the top of the stairs I paused, gazing down into the shadows of the Batcave. Bruce was still sitting on the floor, alone now, peering into the darkness as if he expected it to cover and comfort him. After all, it always had, hadn't it?

But maybe not this time.

Alfred met me at the door, jacket in hand. "You'll catch a chill if you're not careful, Master Dick," he admonished me sternly, proffering the warm jacket for my use. I swallowed, hard.

"Alfred ... " I stammered, "Bruce ... Bruce needs.... " My voice cracked unable to continue.

"I know," came Alfred's soft reply, wrapped in quiet dignity like a cloak.

"You'll take care of him?"

"I always have," said Alfred Pennyworth. Smiling, he handed me a small foil-wrapped package.

"I thought you might find these useful," he said. I didn't even need to open up the package to know what lurked inside. My nose brought me the delicious aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, still hot and gooey the way I like them best. With stinging eyes, I reached out and hugged the only grandfather I'd ever known.

"I love you, man," I murmured, "you know that, don't you?"

"Indeed, young sir," Alfred returned, straightening my jacket on my shoulders. "There's enough there to share with Master Garth, young Sir," he smiled.

Blinking, I stepped from the gloom of Wayne Manor out into the bright sunlight of a perfect spring day. I thought about Garth, the calm center of my new world, waiting for me at Titans' Tower, his beautiful violet eyes shining in the light and I smiled. Taking a deep breath, I felt light and airy ... almost as if I were flying.

I was free.


End file.
